Completely Contrived OneShot 9: Blind
by Loafer
Summary: COMPLETE. Part of my Lassiet Contrived Cliché One-Shot series, this one tackles temporary blindness… but somehow this one-shot turned into six chapters. Erm... sorry? Anyway, LASSIET!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: if _**psych**_ were my show, I'd be rich, but it's not, so I write fanfic.

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: In my **Lassiet** Contrived Cliché One-Shot series, this one tackles temporary blindness… but I can already tell it's going past one chapter. So here we go with the first round!

**. . . . . . **

**. . . . .**

**. . . .**

It was nothing like a typical Thursday afternoon, Lassiter knew that much.

For one thing, Juliet was in a direct line with their suspect, who had a gas canister containing something he'd cooked up in his home lab, and he sprayed it in her face.

She screamed in pain—Lassiter's heart just about split in two—and the suspect took off running.

This marked the first time Lassiter had ever _not_ chased a bad guy, because there was no way he was leaving Juliet.

He cradled her in his arms, letting someone else go after Vandiver, yelling for EMTs. Juliet's hands were on her face as she sobbed, her shoulders shaking. He held her tight; whether she took any comfort from this he had no idea, but he only knew he had to _stay with her. _

_Stay with Juliet._

Vandiver was taken down and the EMTs rushed in and whisked Juliet off to the hospital.

Lassiter stood in the rapidly emptying office complex, his mind and heart racing in keen competition.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Hours later at the hospital, he was one of the few allowed in the room when the doctor gave his pronouncement to Juliet.

She was small and frightened in the bed, her eyes bandaged, her hands trembling as she clutched the sheets.

Chief Vick was at Lassiter's side and Spencer and Guster were in the corner. Spencer looked shaken, and Gus looked, as ever, like he was about to be sick.

The doctor asked Juliet if she wanted the room cleared and she said no, relatively firmly. "These people are the closest I have to family here."

He talked matter-of-factly and Lassiter tried his best to listen—damn him, why couldn't he concentrate? he _excelled_ at concentrating under stress—and what he came away with was that her eyes were to remain bandaged for 72 hours, and she should return Monday morning at 8:00 for the removal of said bandages. Most likely the damage was superficial and would heal if she took good care of herself, and, the doctor added, she should expect to use eyedrops and wear very dark glasses for the next few weeks.

Juliet asked quietly what would happen if 72 hours wasn't enough. The doctor said she should worry about one thing at a time. She had not lost her vision, but the surface of her eyes had been damaged and that would take time to heal properly lest there be scarring.

_Her eyes are so beautiful,_ Lassiter thought. _They go with the sunny smile. They have to be all right._

_Thank God _she's_ all right._

They'd been in danger before; they'd each been injured before, but this was different. The doctor was even saying she was probably going to be just fine.

So why was it different?

Because he'd only held her as she cried one other time, after Yin. Because she'd only clung to him like that one other time.

Because Juliet in fear and distress was more painful to him than the prospect of being gut-shot himself.

Patting Juliet on the arm, and adding that she'd be discharged in a short while, the doctor left the room after nodding at the others.

"I'll take good care of you, Jules," said Spencer with confidence. "We'll set you up at the Psych office on our best sofa, and—"

"We only have the _one_ sofa," Gus reminded him.

"Gus, I can't do this with you right now." Spencer advanced to the bed and took Juliet's hand. "You'll be in good company with us."

Juliet sighed. "I'm sure I would, but I'd rather not stay at Psych."

_Asshat. He shouldn't need to be told that._

"But Jules, we can keep an eye on you—ha, get it? An eye?—over the weekend. We have a fully-stocked fridge, some good TiVo, and—"

"She can't watch TV, Shawn, and the fridge is empty. You've been promising to refill it all week. Plus I have to work tomorrow." Gus joined Spencer at the side of the bed. "But Shawn can stay with you."

"_Can_ stay? Gus, I _will_ stay. That's not even in question. The will is there, man. The way is there. _Everything's_ there. And that's why Jules needs to be there too."

"Shawn," she said very firmly—and Lassiter marveled that he could detect her resolve without actually seeing it in her eyes—"I want to go to my own place. If I'm going to be essentially blind for the next three days, I will be much more comfortable in my own surroundings."

Spencer hemmed. "But you can't _see_ them, Jules. And in the dark, a bed's a bed, right?"

"There's no bed at Psych, Shawn," Gus warned him.

Chief Vick asked carefully, "Is there a reason she can't stay with you, Mr. Spencer?"

_Because he's an asshat._

"Me? Well. I don't know, Chief. I'm not sure she'd be—" He hesitated. "But I'll tell you what. Gus' place is good. Gus, you have clean sheets on the bed, right? And—"

Gus cut him off. "Take her to her place."

"Yes, please." Juliet was relieved.

"But—"

"Spencer," Lassiter snapped. "Your girlfriend is asking you to take her home, so take her the hell home!"

He instantly thought he'd get in trouble for that, but Juliet smiled with obvious gratitude. "Carlton! I thought you left." She held out her hand, and he went over to take it, noting Spencer eyeing him suspiciously.

"Of course I'm here, O'Hara. I don't walk out on my partner." He was gruff, but knew she could see right through him, bandaged eyes or not.

Her hand was cool and her grip firm, and he was surprised at her fervor. "Thank you. And thank you for before."

Spencer immediately asked, "Before? Before what?"

"When it happened," she said softly, still squeezing Lassiter's hand, her head down. "He took care of me."

"Well, _I'm_ taking care of you now," Spencer declared. "And if you want to go home, I will take you home, because that's the kind of guy I am."

"Glad to hear it, Spencer." He couldn't keep the acid out of his tone.

_If you consider me taking care of _my partner_ something you have to get puffed up about, fine—as long as she gets home where she most wants to be_.

Chief Vick must have sensed matters deteriorating, because she stepped forward. "Carlton and I are leaving, Juliet, but call if you need anything. I'll check in tomorrow and I'm sure Carlton will be in touch as well."

"She'll need to rest," Spencer informed them somewhat haughtily.

The Chief raised her eyebrows. "Right. Like I said, we'll be in touch."

Lassiter allowed himself to briefly cover Juliet's hand with both of his, and she smiled in his direction. "Anything you need, partner, just call."

"Thank you, Carlton. So very much."

"She won't need anything from you so long as _I'm_ there, Lassie."

Vick was on her way out and Juliet couldn't see, so Lassiter gave him the finger before he left.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

"Lassiter," he barked into the phone, not looking away from the TV, where John Wayne was explaining things to Kim Darby.

But that was forgotten once he heard Juliet's anxious, "Carlton?"

"O'Hara. What's wrong?" He was already judging how fast he could get her back to the hospital and what kind of medical personnel would be working at 8:20 in the evening. Were they end-of-shifters, mid-shifters or fresh on the job?

"Would you come get me and take me home?"

"Yes," he said automatically. Then, "Wait. Where are you?"

Unhappy sigh. "I'm at the Psych office. Would you come get me? Now?"

"I'm on my way, but why the hell are you there?" He was on his feet, finding his shoes, looking for keys.

"I'll tell you when you get here. Please, just… I want to be gone before they get back."

"They _left_ you?" It was nearly a roar, and elicited from her a small laugh.

"Just hurry."

"I'll be there in thirteen and a half minutes," he said grimly.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Juliet sat in the chair closest to the door, unsettled and exhausted and pissed off.

_I will not cry. Crying is bad with bandaged eyes. Carlton will be here soon._

He didn't even knock on the door; she heard—_felt_—him stride into her black world, his voice anxious and yet determined. "O'Hara."

"That was less than thirteen minutes," she commented, feeling his hands clasping her arms, already calming down.

"Twelve," he admitted. "I used the siren half the way over. Are you okay?"

She felt a smile at the idea of him racing to get her. "Is my Beetle out front?"

"Yeah, I saw it." He was close; his warmth bathing her in unexpected comfort.

"Then unless Gus has my keys, they should be around here somewhere. And my overnight bag, the one I keep in the car—it should be here somewhere too." She hadn't moved since she'd called him. The office, in her memory, was a minefield of furniture and toys and little shifting oddities and she had no intention of falling and disappearing into the madness.

Carlton let her go and went looking. "Got the keys. This light brown bag is yours, right? Yeah, your nametag's on it." He came back to her, hand on her arm again. "You ready?"

Juliet stood up, shaky despite everything, and didn't have to say anything; Carlton carried her bag and firmly grasped her elbow to lead her out.

The cool air was refreshing and yet nothing was as nice as being in his car, door locked, seatbelt on, knowing she was _finally_ going home.

"How did you end up there?" he demanded after he got in beside her, and somehow his ire was comforting too.

"Well, I _thought_ he was taking me to my place. Gus followed in my car, and I had no idea we were coming here until I was inside and could smell the Doritos."

Even Carlton's faint sound of disgust made her feel better. "What was his reason for going against everything you emphatically wanted and which he'd promised to do?"

Touching the gauze over her eyes lightly, carefully, Juliet let out a breath. "He was sure I would be more comfortable there, curled up on their sofa while they watched TV I couldn't see and ate food I didn't want."

"Asshat," he grumbled. "So why did they leave you alone?"

"In a nutshell, there was a long stupid argument about the empty fridge and the fact that Shawn was supposed to buy groceries but didn't have any money and Gus wouldn't use his credit card because it was Shawn's turn, but he also wouldn't let the fridge stay empty with me there, and there was a side discussion about what food Shawn wanted to buy, and what _Gus_ thought he should buy, and Shawn wanted to take the card and go but Gus didn't trust him to give the card back, so in the end, they had to go together."

"That was a nutshell?"

"Actually, yes. What time is it now?"

"8:36."

"Good," she said with relief. "Plenty of escape time. They were coming back before nine so they could start watching a _Rockford Files_ marathon."

Carlton snapped, "Asshats. Colossal, monumental, gigantor _asshats_. Leaving you alone and blind in their rattrap office just hours after a potentially serious injury—my God, I should write them both tickets for—"

Juliet reached over and found his arm—so tense—and he immediately relaxed and went quiet. "I'm safe now, thanks to you. And to be honest, at the end I was encouraging them to just get out already, because I knew the second they were gone, I could call you." She couldn't bring herself to let go of him: he was the anchor she'd been looking for, ever since he'd first held her in the office complex.

He sighed now, and let her pull his hand from the steering wheel so she could hold it. She'd never done that before today, and easily imagined his frown, but felt no tension in his warm hand around hers. Despite his seemingly remote exterior, he was a man who knew a lot more than he realized about just… _being still_. And after a year of Shawn, she really appreciated a man who could be still.

"I'm sorry I didn't think to ask you this on the phone, but will you stay tonight? I have a spare room and you probably have your own overnight bag in the trunk and I know it's an imposition this suddenly but I'd really appreciate it—"

"O'Hara," he said sternly, squeezing her hand firmly. "Yes. I wasn't about to leave you alone, even if you made me sleep on the doorstep."

"You'd make a most excellent guard," she agreed.

"How are you feeling?" His question was abrupt.

How was she feeling… "The gauze itches and my eyes… they burn. Like I'm in heavy smoke. I need to take another pain pill in an hour—my head is killing me." She was tired, too. So tired. "I just want to take a shower and change into my softest jammies and lie down and sleep. For like, two days."

He squeezed her hand again. "You're almost there, O'Hara."

She believed it now. She knew she could believe whatever he told her, and he'd take care of her.

_Why couldn't I get this from Shawn?_

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Lassiter guided Juliet up the stairs to her apartment and unlocked her door.

The second she stepped inside, he could tell she felt a hundred times better; her stress seemed to dissipate. "Thank God," she murmured. "Thank _you_, Carlton."

He made her sit down while he went to get their bags, and when he returned, she was slumped against the sofa cushions, looking every bit as vulnerable as she had in the hospital bed this afternoon.

"O'Hara," he said softly. "You okay?" He knelt before the sofa, not touching her but wanting to.

Straightening up immediately, she assured him she was… and then her stomach growled.

"When's the last time you ate?"

"Shawn brought me some cookies from the snack machine at the hospital."

"You say that like…" He stopped. No need. "And he's been with you the last four hours?"

Juliet smiled slightly. "I'm okay, Carlton. I was a little too agitated to want anything earlier. He's the one who insisted I have the cookies."

One point for the nimrod, then. "Well, before you do anything else, we're getting you fed. What's in your kitchen? What are you in the mood for?" He headed that way, and when he glanced back, Juliet was following. "Easy there, O'Hara—"

"I can walk," she reminded him, "and I do know this place in the dark." She moved carefully around the sofa and end table, reaching out to find the back of the chair as she passed, and caught up with him in the doorway.

"Very nice. Can you find your kitchen table?"

A cheeky grin—adorable, he thought, and he didn't use words like adorable—somehow made the eye bandages looked almost comical, but when she stumbled against the closest chair he forgot that and stepped over to get her to her destination.

"Not without incident," she laughed. "You know what I'd like? Ham on rye. I have some marvelous sliced ham in the fridge and the rye's from that bakery near the station."

Lassiter inspected the fridge, but found no ham. "Is it in a container?"

"Yes, one of those clear plastic ones with a light blue lid."

He caught a glimpse of the lid… in the sink. Near the empty container. "When's the last time you had any of it?"

"I made a sandwich for my lunch. There was plenty left. You don't see it?" But before he answered, she exclaimed, "Dammit! Is the container in the sink? Shawn said he was coming by this morning to pick up his _Belvedere_ DVDs. Did he eat my ham?"

The tone in her voice was part outrage, part woundedness, and he studied her body language with some trepidation: all the tension was back. Her hands were in fists and her mouth formed a mutinous line and he needed to get her under control no matter how much he wanted to go punch Spencer for yet another careless act.

"You have eggs and cheese. How about I scramble some up and make toast to go with it? Got any jam? How about a cup of tea?"

"Oh," she said, deflating. "That sounds wonderful. Especially the tea and toast."

He found her cookie tin—thankfully Spencer had spared that—and waved a chocolate chip cookie under her nose. "To tide you over."

Ah… there was the smile. Lassiter felt better and hoped _she_ would pretty soon.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Well fed—Carlton was highly skilled at egg scrambling, as it turned out—and after a large mug of tea to soothe her frazzled nerves, Juliet allowed him to guide her to her bedroom.

His smoky voice—unexpectedly calming up until now—took on a bit of an edge. "I'm sure you can find everything you need just by touch but don't spend _too_ much time in the shower, all right? I'm likely to freak out if I don't know you're okay in there."

Juliet smiled, and patted his hand where he grasped her arm. "I promise. I just want a quick rinse and then I'll be out."

"Okay," he said reluctantly. "I'll be pacing nervously in the hall."

It was on the tip of her tongue to joke that he could come in and supervise but she held it back, pretty sure he'd run out in a panic.

_Although… maybe not…_

She moved carefully in the persistent dark. She knew her apartment well, and told herself her eyes weren't really bandaged, that she merely had them squeezed shut for a late-night trip to the loo, unready to face the light and fully wake.

The shower was marvelous. Warm water, soothing, refreshing. She stayed in probably longer than Carlton would like, but it was just so very damn nice, on top of a good meal and the lovely tea, and how much better she felt _just being home_.

Away from Shawn.

_Juliet…*tsk, tsk*_

Shawn. Crap. He'd be calling—or worse, showing up—any second now. This motivated her to finish up, to dry herself off and find those soft comfy flannel pajama pants and her old U of Miami tee—she knew it by its very threadbareness—and her favorite soft green robe. She'd washed her hair, careful not to get the bandages wet, and finger-combed it while calling out to Carlton that she was fine and would be with him in a second.

But when she opened the door to the hall, Carlton thrust her phone into her hand. "Spencer just called. I didn't think you'd want _me_ to talk to him."

It rang again immediately, and some of her new good mood vanished.

With a sigh, she felt for the 'talk' button. "Hi, Shawn."

Letting Carlton steer her back to the kitchen, she listened to Shawn carrying on about _where she'd gone and why she hadn't left a note, and oh yeah she couldn't see where the paper and pens were but still, she could have left some message, maybe spelled out with Cheerios from the box on the desk, no wait, she couldn't see that either, and come to think of it, the box was empty, and seriously, Jules, seriously_, "Where are you?"

"I'm home. Where I wanted to be the whole time."

Carlton was doing something at the sink… refilling the kettle, she decided, and maybe one more cup of tea _would_ be nice.

"Jules, I was worried! I thought you'd been kidnapped. Wait… you're _home_? How did you get there? Your bug's still out front."

"I called Carlton to come get me."

Carlton was still for a moment, but then she heard him move again.

Corresponding pause from Shawn. "Lassie? You called _Lassie_."

"Yes."

"Jules, why? If you wanted to go home, all you had to do was—"

"Oh for the love of God, Shawn, how the hell many times did I tell you I wanted to go home?"

Carlton muttered something. Most likely 'asshat.'

Shawn protested. "I didn't know how serious you were! I just wanted you to be in good company. If you'd just given it a chance, really—and you still could, you know."

_Asshat._

"No. I am _home_, and I am here to stay. I've been well fed, I've had my shower, and I'm ready to go to sleep."

"You can't stay there by yourself, Jules. Let me come get you and—"

"I'm not by myself. Carlton is staying in the guest room tonight."

"What?" he screeched. "No way, Jules, that's going above and beyond the call of partnership."

Juliet thought, _you don't know what _partnership_ is. Even with Gus, you have no idea_. "I disagree profoundly, Shawn. Now, I apologize for leaving you wondering and I do appreciate what you were trying so very misguidedly to do for me, but I'm really tired and I have _got_ to sleep. I'll call you tomorrow." Click.

"Well done," Carlton said mildly. "Cookie with your tea?"

She was so proud of him. She might not have been proud if she could see the look in his eyes or the frown on his face—because she knew damned well they were there—but he was keeping most of the fury out of his tone, and for that, she was grateful. And impressed.

**. . . .**

**. . . **

Lassiter was turning the pages of one of Juliet's books when she made her way out of her room carefully.

"Carlton?"

"O'Hara," he said, getting up. "You all right?"

"Yeah…" She touched her temples. "Can't sleep. My head's killing me. Is it time for me to take another pain pill?"

He guided her to the sofa. "It's nearly one. Close enough."

She plopped down, and immediately lay on her side, yawning. "Why are you still awake?"

"Been a crazy day. Hang on while I get the pill." He went to the kitchen for a glass of water and the pill. He'd tried sleeping in the guest room but after a couple of hours gave it up and returned to the living room. Maybe he'd sensed she'd be out herself.

Juliet was still yawning when he sat down beside her, and agreed to sit up enough to take the glass and pill from him.

"You sitting out here reminds me of when I was a kid and couldn't sleep. I'd come out and always find my mother awake and reading."

"And what would she do for you?" he asked, taking the glass when she'd finished.

"Well, _today_ she'd say that if I were already married, I'd only have to _pretend_ to have headaches."

Lassiter laughed, and her grin was worth much of the stress of the day.

"Oh," she said suddenly, the smile gone. "You have to work tomorrow."

"I can stay. You know I have plenty of leave time." He hesitated. "Unless you want to give Spencer another chance."

He suspected she was frowning, but the bandages hid her eyebrows.

"I don't know about that," she said slowly. "I suppose I might have to."

No stress, he reminded himself. "You can decide in the morning. I'll call Vick and tell her I'll be late if I do come in. You won't be by yourself, and I don't mind staying."

"Thank you." She relaxed again. "You have no idea. I know he's my boyfriend and he means well but he's just so exhausting and I don't need that this weekend."

"No, you don't." That was as neutral as he could make it. She already knew he had more to say on the subject of Spencer.

"Not that I expect _you_ to wait on me the whole time, either." Her tone had a _but I won't mind if you do_ aspect.

"O'Hara. _Partner_. I'm here until you throw me out. Besides, you know I'm obsessive. I won't think anyone can do as good a job as I can watching over you."

Juliet smiled again. "No one _can_, I suspect." She rubbed her temples again, and he wished to do that for her. "Were you reading?"

"Yeah—a book about a boy and his horse."

Juliet tilted her head. "A boy and his… _My Friend Flicka_?"

"That's what it's about, right?" he asked somewhat defensively.

"Oh, I love it when you're open-minded," she said with a laugh. "It's a wonderful story." Sighing, she lay back down on the sofa, her head almost brushing his thigh, and he fought the urge to stroke her hair. "You should read it to me."

"I don't think so, O'Hara."

"Why not? You have a really nice voice when you're not barking orders or yelling at Shawn." Another yawn.

Thank God she couldn't see his blush.

"I could sleep here," she mused.

"Well, you're not going to."

She was disappointed. "Ohhhh… why not?"

"Because I don't want you to be totally disoriented when you wake up the next time. Come on, let's get you back to your room."

"But I'm comfortable."

"You'll be comfortable there, too." He took a chance. "Tell you what—I'll read you to sleep. I think I have parts of the _California Penal Code_ memorized."

She laughed, and not for the first time did _God I love you_ flit through his mind and heart.

"It's _Flicka_ or nothing," she argued.

"Just get back to your room and we'll see."

With a moue of protest, she got up and let him herd her back to her bedroom—how odd to think he'd touched her more today than he had in a year—where she crawled back into her bed after slipping the green robe off. "Don't leave me," she said sternly.

"I won't." He settled into the rocking chair after turning on the bedside lamp. "Do you want me to start with felonies or—"

"Carlton!" But she was amused. "_Flicka_. Chapter one. Go."

And damn him, he could not say no to her. Not today. Maybe not ever again.

He opened the book, and began to read. "_High up on the long hill they called the Saddle Back, behind the ranch and the county road, the boy sat on his horse facing east, his eyes dazzled by the rising sun._"

**. . . .**

**. . .**

**. .**

_My Friend Flicka, by Mary O'Hara, c1941._


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

_[This two-chapters-in-one-day event is brought to you by way of my being stuck at home recovering from Le Stomache Bugge. So don't be whinin' for CH3 until tomorrow, mmm-kay?]_

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Juliet woke with a start, her head muzzy and her bandaged eyes burning. But she felt good all the same, safe and warm in her bed, and comfortable, at least from the neck down.

_Carlton's here. Everything's okay._

He'd read to her most of the first chapter, she figured, before she faded away. He did have a nice reading voice, even and calm, and he'd been so good to her—_for_ her—since this whole ordeal started.

_Shawn couldn't have done this. And he never would have read _My Friend Flicka_. A graphic novel, maybe, with the POWs and WHAMs acted out loudly, but never a seventy-year-old novel about a boy and his beloved horse._

_Juliet… stop it._

From out in the apartment she heard a sound, and she yawned, wondering what time it was. Her stomach suggested it was breakfast time, which meant on a normal day she'd have been up and out for her run already.

She got up, stretching, and ran her fingers through her hair. Finding her robe, she shuffled across the floor in a path she knew by heart, and once the door was open she smelled glorious coffee.

"Good morning," Carlton called out. "How's the head?"

"Attached for now. May I please have a gallon of that coffee immediately?" She made her way to the kitchen and found the table, taking a seat without incident.

"Coming up. It's quarter till eight, in case you wondered, and I called Vick to say I'd be with you until you sent me home."

"You'll be here awhile, then." _Because I don't want to send you home._ "Oh my God, do I smell cinnamon?"

The amusement was clear in his tone. "Yes. One of my other skills is sprinkling cinnamon sugar on toast. You'd like some?"

"Can you get 'duh' from my expression with these bandages on?"

Carlton chuckled. "Clearly." He set a mug down in front of her. "The way you like it, I think."

It was—and she took several long, savoring draws on it as he set another dish in front of her, this one with the cinnamon toast. "Oh, Carlton Lassiter, you _are_ a multi-faceted gem."

He was silent a moment, but then mumbled something about keeping that a secret if she didn't mind, and Juliet thought some nice things she shouldn't think about him (again).

"I was thinking," she said, her reluctance real, "that if you wanted to swing by your place or the station for anything this morning, I could let Shawn come and sit with me awhile."

"If you want," he said slowly, and she knew his brow was creased with that familiar frown, as he worked out whether she wanted him to go, wanted to be with Shawn, was trying to be nice, or should be taken at face value.

_I'd love to see his blue eyes right now. His eyes say so much that he denies with words._

"I don't…honestly… want. And I don't need anyone to supervise me doing _nothing_. It's not like I'm going to develop a sudden urge to vacuum or paint the bathroom. But it'll make him feel better and it'll make you feel better to know I'm not totally alone here."

His agreement was grudging.

"And I was also thinking," she added, "that maybe we could talk through some of our cold cases."

"That's a great idea." He sounded pleased.

"It's one of those things we always think we'll have time to do, right?" She smiled. "This way _I'll_ feel better knowing I'm not totally wasting your time."

"O'Hara, have you ever known me to waste time?" Carlton asked succinctly. She could imagine one eyebrow arched.

"Nope." She smiled as she bit into warm cinnamon toast, and appreciated him more than he would ever know.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Over breakfast, they discussed which cold cases he should pull, and then Lassiter stood by puzzling while Juliet got ready for the day.

He was… comfortable here. He couldn't really get his head around how… _normal_ it felt to… to have shaved in her apartment. How _easy_ it was to move around in her kitchen—her home—as if he belonged there. How _un-daunting_ it was to have woken at four a.m., his feet propped up on the side of her bed as he sat in her rocking chair, content that she was soundly asleep and trusted _him_ to take care of her.

How _right_ it felt to take care of her.

He was a moron, but he was a happy moron.

When she emerged from her bedroom, hair brushed, cheeks rosy again; wearing jeans and a loose tee, he wanted to hug her and knew he'd better not get near her at all in this frame of mind.

"It's about 9:30," he said. "Will Spencer be awake?"

Juliet shrugged. "We'll find out. May I have another cup of coffee? And my phone?"

He handed her the latter and went to fetch the other.

Juliet's half of the conversation indicated that Spencer was awake and rarin' to come see her. She told him it was only for the morning and that she and Lassiter would be working on old cases in the afternoon, but since she had to _repeat_ this statement, Lassiter lacked confidence the message was getting through.

_Oh well_, he thought. _If she decides he's a better companion today, that's her choice. And if not, I've got a gun_.

Spencer showed up just past ten, hair freshly gelled and clothes newly scruffed. He carried a bag of churros and two pineapple smoothies.

"Lassie! If I'd known you'd still be here, I'd have brought you one." He set everything down and swooped in on a startled Juliet for a hug.

Lassiter scowled. "Of course I'm still here. The whole point is to have someone _stay_ with O'Hara, remember?"

He shrugged, and thrust a smoothie into Juliet's hand. "Sweet goodness," he told her. To Lassiter, he declared, "Well, your shift is over for the day, buddy. We'll call you when we need you. Probably tomorrow."

"Shawn," Juliet protested.

"Don't worry, Jules, I've got this. I know where I went wrong yesterday, and today I'm all about doing it right. I," he said magnanimously, "am here for you." He kissed her on the cheek.

"Shawn, I told you Carlton and I are working this afternoon. And I'm still mad at you for eating my ham!"

Spencer was startled. "Your… ham? But that… it was in a container, Jules."

Exasperated, she held the smoothie out in his direction meaningfully until he took it. "I told you. Carlton and I are working this afternoon."

"You work every day! In fact, that's the number one reason we don't spend more time together, isn't it?"

_Asshat. Asshat. Asshat._

She crossed her arms. "Well, uh, what do you suggest instead? That I become virtually unemployed like you?"

"Oooh, low blow. No, what I suggest is that you send Lassie here away so you and I can have some real fun. Some real caretaking. Some quality time."

"Carlton's been doing an excellent job taking care of me, Shawn. And I _need_ to work, today of all days; do you get that? I need to know there's some way I can still do my job because even in a best-case scenario, I'm out for a few weeks, and in a worst-case scenario, I can't be a cop anymore. Do you understand what that means to me? What it would do to me to have to give up everything I wanted all these years, everything I've worked for?"

Lassiter's heart twinged for her: he'd hoped she hadn't had time to work up that line of thought yet.

"Jules," Spencer said, probably intending to sound soothing, but Lassiter thought it was condescending. "You're worrying about too much too soon."

"Maybe I am but there's not a lot else for me to do right now while I'm waiting for Monday morning, is there?"

"That's why you need me. No matter what his other… dubious… skills, no way can Lassie here be as fantastic a companion for you as I am. Now you scoot, Lassi-saurus, and we'll just—"

"Shawn!" she snapped. "Stop insulting my friend."

"But it's Lassie!"

"I don't insult Gus, do I?"

"But… but it's Lassie!"

"Let me rephrase," she said icily. "I don't insult Gus' friend Shawn, do I? Despite many opportunities?"

Lassiter intervened, because she should not have this kind of stress right now. "Okay, enough. I'm going to run by my place and then the station and take care of a couple of other things. I'll be back here after lunch. Anything changes with that plan, just call me." He touched Juliet's arm and she tilted her fair head in his direction, silent but relaxing under his hand.

Spencer, he ignored as he left.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

_I am such an idiot._

She went over it in her head. Shawn had settled in with her at her place for all of twenty minutes before getting restless. His ADD was never more in evidence than when he was forced to stay in a room and be quiet, and it had finally dawned on her: the reason he'd been so keen to have her at Psych was that she'd dropped her cable package a few months ago. At Psych, they had the works, plus TiVo.

_Well, it's nice to know how I rate._

Somehow, somehow, _somehow_, like Chinese water torture, he'd talked her into coming out into the sunshine with him, on the pretext of getting some fresh air and maybe running by his favorite taco place for some fresh sopapillas, and _no you won't have to get out of the car unless you really really want to and please Jules please just let's get out of here okay it smells like Lassie let's go already_.

_Smells like Lassie? _

He meant it as a slur, but she drank deep of the air before they left and did catch a whiff of Carlton's aftershave… and she liked it. She'd always liked it. It was light and masculine and _Carlton_.

So if the place smelled like him, well, that was a plus in her book.

Now, with a bag of sopapillas (she didn't want) in her lap, she was being driven God knows where, and she had no illusion that it would be back home. Shawn was humming something—possibly _Everybody Wants To Rule The World_, which was appropriate—and it occurred to her to ask an important question.

"Did you make a copy of my car key?"

Because he'd driven the Bug to her place, and the key had been in Carlton's possession since last night.

"Come again?" he asked with surprise. "No, this is your key."

"Oh. So you _pushed_ the car to my apartment?"

"No, I had your key last night, remember?"

"_Gus_ had my key, and Carlton found it on his desk."

"Well, that can't be right, Jules. He must have picked up some other set of keys."

"Carlton knows what my keys look like, Shawn. Really? You copied my key? Should I have been checking the mileage all this time to see how much wear and tear _I'm_ not putting on the car?"

"Jules," he soothed. "Calm down. I didn't make a copy of your key. That'd be way too expensive. You know what dealers charge for those things? This _might_ be your spare key."

"_Might_ be. The spare key I might keep in my apartment?" In the back of her desk drawer under a 2007 pocket calendar.

"You left it out," he said, and she could _see_ the careless, lying shrug.

"The hell I did." She rolled the window down and threw the sopapillas out of the bag.

"Jules!" he protested. "That's littering! As well as wasteful!"

Crumpling the bag with vicious satisfaction, she tossed it over her shoulder into the back seat. "They're biodegradable."

"Easy now. I'll give the key back. But it's a good thing I had it, right? Because otherwise I'd have had to take you out on my bike and that might have been kinda iffy for you with your eyes shut."

"You didn't have to take me out at all, Shawn. I wanted to stay home."

"You agreed! You agreed to sopapillas, not that it matters now, and—look, I can make this up to you. Just hang on a minute and you'll see. I mean… you'll find out."

_Son of an ever-lovin'… asshat. _

_Great, now I sound like Carlton._

_Still, if the epithet fits_...

She tried to be soothed by the steady thrum of her beloved bug, but he had gotten her away from the apartment before she thought about her pain pills and her head was aching again. The fresh air was nice but her eyes were burning under the bandages and Shawn just made her so weary lately.

So then she tried to be soothed by the idea that Carlton was getting a break, getting fresh clothes, getting the case files, and getting back to her later… _you mean, getting back to the apartment… _

_No, I mean getting back to me, because I would rather be home with him right now than with this guy who's _supposed_ to be my love and support_.

_Well. _Someone's_ getting overly dependent on her partner. Ever think this might be a little post-traumatic stress attachment?_

_Quit making stuff up. I just know what I need, that's all_.

The bug came to a stop—Shawn still humming—and he turned off the engine. "You're going to love this, Jules. You're going to be so glad you took a ride on the wild side."

She got out of the car and stood by the door. She could smell the sea, and hear people on the beach, so there was little chance she wasn't in front of the Psych office.

Shawn came around and took her arm, guiding her with surprising caution—this? _this_ he paid attention to; just not her needs, her wants, or her wishes?—across the parking lot and up to the door. "You probably guessed where we are," he admitted, making it sound like she secretly thought it was all funny.

"I probably did," she said dryly.

Once again the scent of Doritos hit her as he led her inside. "Look," he said.

"Shawn."

"I mean... sorry. _Listen_."

"To what?"

"I rearranged the place. The ambience should be different. It should sound different."

"Like what?"

His voice took on a wondering tone. "Like pillows, Jules. Pillows everywhere. I have made this office the safest, most cushiony place in the world. It's a place where even the most hardened cop can virtually cocoon into a little ball of comfort and… cushiness. Kick out with your foot."

Juliet did so, and encountered limited resistance. "Pillows?"

"Isn't it great? Now we can curl up here and listen to some great TV together—I can tell you what's happening on screen—and by the time Gus gets here with our early dinner, you will not _ever_ want to leave."

Juliet sighed. _Nothing_ would ever be easy with this man, and she _already_ wanted to leave.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Lassiter was practical, so even though there was still a chance Juliet would weaken and let Spencer supply his own brand of care-taking, he re-packed his overnight bag with enough clothes for the entire weekend. Juliet wouldn't know, and if Spencer went within ten feet of his bag, he could use deadly force to protect his belongings.

At the station, he collected half a dozen cold case files and checked in with Vick, assuring her Juliet was doing well and the biggest problem would be keeping Spencer under control. Vick sighed sympathetically, which was the most she probably felt free to say.

Then he went to the grocery store, because he'd noted a few things Juliet was low on—such as ham—and it wasn't as if she'd be up for shopping any time soon. Sure, she'd argue with him about reimbursement, but he was… taller.

A slight smile on his face, he loaded up the Fusion and headed to her apartment shortly after noon, all errands squared away.

But her bug was gone when he arrived, so dammit, either Spencer had left her alone or worse, she'd gone off with him somewhere.

Grimly, he carried the groceries up first. No need to take the overnight bag up at all until he knew for sure.

The place was empty; no note. Figured. Even if she'd asked Spencer to leave one, he might not have done it.

Lassiter put the groceries away, judging his sense of disappointment as being foolish, but then at the same time he began to worry a little. Truth was, she _should_ be home resting. Whatever Spencer had in mind was bound to be stressful even if she liked it, and she hadn't been too happy with him when Lassiter left them earlier.

Screw it; he got out his phone and started to call her.

Screw _that_; he _knew_ where Spencer had taken her. He returned to his car and drove directly to the Psych office.

Once there, he yanked open the door and strode inside without knocking.

Spencer greeted him with an effusive, "Hey there! Did we call for you? I don't think so."

Lassiter stopped short.

The place was littered with pillows. Sofa cushions, bed pillows, throw pillows, old beanbags. The desks had been pushed back and the floor cleared to be… _littered_, there was no other word… with pillows.

Juliet sat in the middle of it on top of what appeared to be a swim float, her arms crossed in much the same mutinous position he'd last seen her in. "Carlton, please tell me that's you."

"O'Hara. Spencer, what the hell happened here? Did you blow up a pillow store?"

"Not quite. I child-proofed the place, that's all!" He sat down on the floor beside Juliet, putting his arm around her.

She shrugged it off, inching away. Lassiter was proud.

"She's not a child, you imbecile."

"No, but she's like a toddler. She could fall and hurt herself in her condition."

"She can _walk_ just fine. What she _can't_ do is see all the damn pillows on the floor!"

Spencer smirked. "But that's okay. She's sitting down, see?"

"Because I _fell_ down," Juliet retorted. "_Because_ of all the damn pillows on the floor."

"Everything's all right now," Spencer promised. "I won't take my eyes off you that long again."

"It was five seconds, Shawn! I asked if there was a clear path across the room and you said yes!"

"Hush now, honey. You know you can't be stressed."

She grabbed the first pillow her fingers could reach and swung at him hard.

Spencer laughed after his initial 'oof' of surprise (and, Lassiter hoped, pain). "Ooh, pillow fight! See, this is fun!"

Lassiter stared at him in disbelief. "Really. She doesn't seem to be having fun."

"I'm not," Juliet agreed tightly, "and Carlton, if you don't get me out of here right now, then you should leave town, because after I get these bandages off I will find you and I will kill you."

_Okay then. _

"Right," he said, crossed the room, reached down and grasped her arms to haul her up, and had her halfway to the door before Spencer could react. "We're going now. Thank you, Spencer, for taking such _good_ care of your girlfriend."

He seemed to be holding her a little more closely than he'd intended, and for a second it occurred to him it must have looked to Spencer like he was manhandling his woman.

But then again, his woman wasn't pushing free. She was furious with Spencer, she was out of breath, and she was radiating all kinds of tension, but she was staying close within the circle of his arms, and… yeah. It was good.

Wrong, but good.

Spencer was gaping, trying to get to his feet but being stymied by his own pillow collection. "We were just about to watch _Tremors_!"

"_I can't see_, Shawn!" she yelled. Lassiter heard the approach of her breaking point, and he'd be damned if he let Spencer do that to her again.

"Come on, O'Hara," he said calmly. "I'm taking you home."

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Juliet couldn't talk to Carlton in the car. She was trying so hard not to cry, to fight back the tears which threatened to scald her damaged eyes, and if she talked—if she thanked him—she would lose it.

Thank God he had come for her—that he hadn't taken the time to call, that he'd just _come_ for her and pulled her out of the madness. That he'd made her feel so safe, nearly pressed to his chest, soothing her anger and frustration merely by _being there_.

She couldn't say so, not right now, but she showed him as best she could: she held out her hand, knowing it was trembling, and when he silently took it, she pulled his into her lap, holding that warm hand with both of hers, tight.

And she was starting to think she didn't ever want to let go.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

He got Juliet home and gave her a pain pill and urged her to go lie down for awhile, promising to make lunch when she was ready.

But she was sound asleep when he checked on her in an hour, and he left her like that, because she needed it.

Spencer called after she'd first dozed off but he took the phone and hissed into it that she was sleeping and if Spencer screwed around with her any more today he'd have her doctor write a specific No-Spencer prescription enforceable by law.

While Spencer was mulling the plausibility of that, Lassiter hung up and turned the damn thing off.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

When Juliet padded out of her room, groggy and totally unsure what time it was (but hungry enough to know it was probably mid-afternoon), she couldn't hear any sounds at first.

She knew Carlton would never have left her… and then she heard even breathing from the direction of the sofa.

He was napping.

This made her smile.

Making her careful way around, she judged he was sitting on the left end, and settled down slowly in the middle. She knew there was a pillow—_a damn pillow, yeah, thanks for making me hate them suddenly, Shawn_—to her right, and reached for that to rest lightly on his lap.

Then she put her head there, on the pillow in his lap, and in a moment, when his breathing changed and his hand moved to gently stroke her hair, she knew everything was going to be just fine.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Lassiter knew nothing would ever be the _same_.

And yeah, that was fine.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

"Don't leave me alone with him again," Juliet said quietly, when they were both fully awake later and even _his_ stomach was growling.

He was still stroking her hair and it was so lovely.

"I won't. I promise." His smoky voice held a promise she would cherish forever.

"I hoped it wouldn't go wrong so fast."

"So did I. You fell?"

"I'm okay. Conveniently, the pillows which caused the fall also broke the fall."

He stroked her shoulder now. "I'm sorry. I should have known better."

"Not your fault. I'm just so glad you came, Carlton. Thank you for… being… exactly who you are." She reached up to cover his hand with hers. "Thank _God_ for you."

Carlton let out a breath—a bit shaky, she thought. "I think it's the other way around, O'Hara."

She rolled onto her back—as if she could see him, and how she _longed_ to see those big blue eyes again—and stared in the direction of his lean face.

"How's your head?" he asked in a more normal tone.

"Still hurts, but it's better." She understood he needed that normalcy, and she would grant it to him.

"I... uh... may I... hell, just let me do this."

Suddenly his warm fingertips were on her temples above the bandages, gently massaging her skin, and Juliet was at once enthralled and entranced and enraptured.

It also felt damned nice.

If she'd been a cat, she'd be purring. Carlton's ministrations to her aching head were firm and steady and relaxing and she wondered if she could schedule him to do this for her even when she didn't have a headache.

"Yes," she sighed after a few minutes. "You may do that."

He laughed low, and it felt intimate, and this was all dangerous territory. "We need lunch," he pointed out, "but I can keep this up as long as you like."

"You can't do both at the same time?" she challenged.

"Don't test me, O'Hara." He stroked her hair with both hands, and to her utter delight and surprise, dropped a light kiss on her forehead. "I'm going to whip up something fit for a Head Detective's partner."

She sat up reluctantly, moving into the warm spot he'd vacated, and curled up with the pillow, smiling dreamily as she listened to him moving around in the kitchen.

_I don't care what you say. This is _not_ about becoming overly attached to the person I perceived as my rescuer yesterday. _

_Uh-huh. Whatever. Just don't screw around with him, okay?_ _That man's got deep feelings and if _any_ of them are for you, you need to be very careful with them. _

_I will never be more careful with anything in my life._

_Good. And by the way, if you're going to keep thinking along these lines? Then you kinda need to ditch the boyfriend._

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

"O'Hara, there is no way it was his sister. She was in Boise at the time, she was left-handed, and she was bald!"

Juliet laughed. "But knowing it's not the sister means we now have to consider the cousin Jeff again."

His voice changed from impatience to outrage. "Then why in the hell have we been talking about the damn sister for half an hour?"

"Because _you_ needed to get over your certainty that it can't be Jeff simply because he's a Civil War buff."

Pause from his side of the table. "But I met with him back then. He was very—wait, are you saying I can't keep an open mind?" Back to outrage. "Let me remind you that on one of your early cases with me I arrested a—"

"No! I'm saying it was a confusing case and _every_ suspect had an alibi and we never did have any proof of anything. That's why it went cold, Carlton. And if _I'd_ thought it was Jeff at the time I'd have pushed you on it. You know that."

He thawed, as she knew he would. "So why do you think it's him now?"

"Because of all our suspects, he had at least seven or eight percent more motive than anyone else."

That, finally, got him to laugh. "Well, by all means, let's bring him in. Seven percent is—"

"Or eight," she interrupted.

"Or _eight_ percent," he amended with exaggerated precision, "is pretty impressive for a cold case."

Juliet grinned in his direction, imagining him shoving his hands through his hair at various points during the last few hours as they'd gone over several of the case files and made each other nuts.

It had been surprisingly satisfying, considering her eyes were bandaged shut. He'd read the files out loud and let her absorb the information without the distraction of visuals, and somehow it helped her 'see' the cases more clearly, or at least differently, than in the past. It seemed to help him, too, because reading everything—every minor detail—refocused those details in his head as well.

Plus she really liked his voice, and prodding at him until he'd laugh was becoming a hobby, because earning that laughter felt like a prize.

"You can drop that smirk," Carlton advised her. "I don't remember you ruling out the sister five years ago. What I remember is you saying you refused to trust a woman who shaved her head for no reason other than to get attention."

"I still don't. So?"

There was a thunk, and his voice was muffled. "This. Is. Insane."

"Did you just bang your head on the table?"

Still muffled. "I may have."

Laughing, Juliet reached across on impulse, seeking the top of his head to pat it—but when her fingers slipped into his hair, they both froze.

"There, there," she managed after a second, going through with the 'pat.' "You'll be fine."

She withdrew her hand, shocked at how much she didn't want to, because damn his hair was soft. Stretching out her arms with a possibly over-acted yawn, she asked, "How long have we been doing this? Is it too late for a walk?"

"Over three hours, and it's maybe half hour before dark. I guess we could go for a walk," he said dubiously. "I'm not sure what you'd get out of it."

"One, some exercise, and two, the knowledge that anyone who sees me will be thoroughly confused for a few seconds."

Carlton seemed to like the idea, and a few minutes later, he guided her down the stairs into the coolness of the early evening, his hand firmly around her upper arm.

At the bottom of the steps Juliet paused and got her memory-bearings. "At the other side of the parking lot there's an opening in the hedge which leads to a little park. Take me in that direction and we'll circle the park a few times, okay? You watch where I'm going," she added with a smile, and held up her hand. "Take this instead of my arm."

He only hesitated a moment, and then clasped her hand.

And Juliet felt warm, and warm was good.

Carlton let her set the pace, brisk and sure until they reached the hedge, when he took over, but on the other side in the park proper, he only tugged on her hand to warn her when she was too close to benches or flowerbeds. It was, in her opinion, an altogether satisfying experience.

She was getting her fresh air (minus the Shawn-stress of the earlier attempt), she was getting her exercise, and she was getting to hold Carlton's warm strong hand and listen to his laughter and admonitions, interspersed with his suspicions about the harmless old man who sat in the park every evening for an hour ("doesn't mean he's not packing heat, O'Hara") and the teenager whom she knew to be an aspiring poet ("cold-blooded killers often start out as lonely artsy types"). And if anyone was unduly disturbed by the sight of a man walking around with a woman whose eyes were taped shut, he never said a word.

Of course maybe they were more mesmerized by _his_ eyes; _she_ would have been.

_Oh to see them again… to count the shades of blue with each shifting emotion._

The lunch he'd made for her hours ago had been, to her utter delight, ham on rye. The same sandwich she'd wanted last night, the same type of meat Shawn had devoured, the same bakery-fresh bread she'd anticipated. It was simple and delicious and exactly right, and within the first two seconds of tasting it, she understood two very important facts.

First, Carlton had replaced the stolen ham _because he knew it would make her happy_.

Second, and more important, she needed to keep this man as close to her as she could for the rest of her life.

Because damn. He… _gave_ a damn what she thought. What she wanted. What was good for her and what… what would make her _happy_.

How to achieve keeping him close to her (beyond the requirements of the job) might be tricky, but then again, given the hair-stroking on the sofa earlier, it might _not_ be so tricky. She'd know more if she could see into those amazing eyes.

They walked in the park for a good long while, slowing down at the end, their hands firmly clasped throughout. Honestly, Juliet didn't _want_ to let go of him, and hoped it wasn't _only_ his concern for her safety which kept his hold on her so strong.

But after a bit longer, he said it was getting late and they should go home and make some dinner, and Juliet agreed this was sensible. She also liked the idea of 'home' when he said it.

Carlton paused before they entered the gap in the hedge. "I'll have to write myself a ticket for this later, but stay put for a second."

He let go of her briefly and stepped away, and just when she was about to call out his name, he was back, and she felt his fingers brushing the side of her head… and what had to be a stem being eased behind her ear as a light floral scent filled the air around her.

"A flower for your hair," he said, still standing close, the heat of his body reminding her how cool it was now… and how easily he could give her goosebumps. "Something pink. Very pretty… just like you."

_Oh_. Juliet swallowed. "Even with this big white bandage over my eyes?"

"Yes. You're always pretty, Juliet," he said quietly. "24/7."

"Oh," she said, _and_ _do _not_ get teary-eyed; those suckers burn enough as it is_. "Thank you, Carlton." _And bless you for finding the courage to say something sweet to me_. She could still remember the speed-dating case where he could hardly look at her, let alone pay a fake compliment so they could keep cover.

His hand settled gently on her upper arm to lead her into the hedge but he was even closer to her than before, and she didn't mind one bit.

On the parking lot side, her dreamy mood was broken as a familiar sound caught her ear. "Is that... is that my bug?"

He stopped, and there was obvious amusement in his tone. "Yes it is. Looks like Guster driving."

"But—" Another noise interrupted her. "_That_ sounds like—"

"Henry's truck," he supplied. "This ought to be good. Come on."

His hold was firmer and their path more direct, and she guessed they were nearly to the stairs leading up to her apartment before he stopped again.

"Lassiter," Henry drawled, slamming the truck door. "Miss Juliet. Or should I say, Miss Masked Bandit?"

"Henry, what's going on?"

"Hang on a minute."

His footsteps crunched away from them, and he said something to Gus, who called out a subdued hello from where he must have been standing by her VW.

Henry came back and reached down to take up her hand, into which he pressed her car key. "Don't be trying to drive just yet."

"I won't," she assured him. "Why are you here instead of Shawn?"

"Eh. Gus said when he went to the Psych office awhile ago it had been hit by Operation Pillow Storm, and he knew things couldn't _possibly_ have gone well. Shawn had taken off on his bike, so Gus asked if I'd help him get your car back to you, along with the key he knew Shawn previously… liberated."

"Stole," Carlton corrected, because Juliet had told him about that 'conversation' earlier.

"Potayto, potahto. Point is, I'm sorry, Juliet. I have a feeling you haven't gotten the kind of support you probably wanted from him and the least I can do is make _one_ thing right." He paused, and Juliet had the sense he was scrutinizing Carlton as well as her. "But Lassiter here looks to be getting everything _else_ right."

Carlton's hand tightened on her arm.

"I like the flower," Henry added with what had to be a sly smile. "Pick that yourself?"

Well, that probably _did_ look interesting, didn't it, unless she could convince him she both picked the flower blindly and also inserted it into her hair—no doubt perfectly—all on her own.

"I have discerning tastes," Juliet said evenly. "Thanks for bringing the bug home. And tell Shawn for me, again, that I did appreciate him _trying_."

"Yeah, he's very good at being _trying_," Henry said with a laugh. "See ya, and get well quick, okay? Gus," he called, "get in the truck."

Listening to the truck's rattling engine as Carlton urged her up the steps, Juliet gave a thought to the silence from Shawn since they'd left him at Psych. Carlton had admitted to turning her phone off while she napped, but it was on again and there'd been no calls or texts.

She doubted Shawn was angry with her or even much bothered by her departure; his ADD alone would have made him far more likely to think "Oooh, _Tremors_ is starting," within two seconds of the slammed door, forget the whole encounter and get comfortable on the pillows as the credits came up.

What concerned her was how relieved she was that _he_ hadn't delivered the car … and whether either Gus or Henry would tell him about the flower in her hair.

Because when she ended their relationship, she didn't want Shawn having anyone to blame but her… and himself.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Lassiter set a plate of bacon and eggs in front of Juliet and watched with pride as she drank in the aroma of the bacon with an appreciative smile. "I know this isn't your usual breakfast, but it _is_ Saturday."

"Absolutely it is." She felt for a slice of bacon and crunched with obvious enjoyment.

"I'm… hoping it'll cushion the blow."

She stopped crunching, holding the bacon in mid-air. "About what?"

"I'm sorry," he said and God, he _was_ sorry, as well as slightly panicked, "but I remembered I have to go to a reenactment group meeting this afternoon at one. We've already rescheduled several times and I'm leading it so I really have to go. Maybe you'd like a break from me—"

"No." She was emphatic. "I would not. But it's okay. You can go."

"You don't understand. It's across town so I'll be gone for over two hours."

"Carlton," Juliet assured him, "it's okay. I can stay by myself for—"

This time he cut _her_ off. "No. You can't."

"Carlton. I'll be _fine_. I can find the bathroom, I can get a drink, I can probably even make a sandwich, though maybe not very neatly. Two hours is not enough time for me to get in trouble."

Lassiter sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Juliet. You know me. If you so much as stub your toe I'll blame myself for the next fifty years. I can't do it. We'll have to call someone." Very carefully, not sure he wanted to see her reaction, he suggested, "Spencer."

Juliet shook her head. "Hell no. The last two attempts were disastrous, remember?"

Yeah, he remembered. He'd been thinking of it since three a.m., when he went to his room after waking in the rocker by her bed, where he'd fallen asleep after reading chapter two of _My Friend Flicka_. She'd insisted he begin near the end of the first chapter, and it was only as he started the third chapter that she dozed off.

He'd wished so to see her eyes, dark blue and lit with her usual spark. But it warmed his heart, even at three a.m., to at least see her sleeping peacefully, slim form under the sheets, one arm thrown wide, her hair cascading across the pillow. When he rose to turn off the bedside lamp, it was difficult not to caress her rosy cheek.

"I've been thinking it over," he finally said. "I'll take both sets of your car keys with me, so he can't drag you off in the bug. But you'll have to promise to kick and scratch if he tries to force you out of here."

She laughed lightly, but he knew she wasn't calm. "He's not going to try to force me anywhere. Not physically, anyway. He's more of the talk talk talk talk talk until he wears his prey down type. Carlton, really. I will be fine here on my own, and you know I would frankly prefer it to having Shawn babysit."

Lassiter studied her set jaw… but his was set as well. "I can't leave you alone. If you don't want him here we'll have to find someone else. Maybe Henry. But not Guster, because Spencer would just tag along. You have other friends; let's call one."

"I don't have friends I want to call up and say _hey sorry I didn't mention I'm temporarily blind but would you drop everything and come sit with me this afternoon?_ Please," she said, "Please just go to your meeting." Her voice was beginning to sound anxious now.

"Juliet. There's another reason you should let Spencer come over." _If he wasn't engaged in a taco-thon or something_. "It's because… because it _didn't_ go well the first two times."

Juliet sat back in the chair, and he was sorry he'd started this before she'd had breakfast. She folded her arms across her chest and waited.

"He's your…" _Damn, it was hard to say_. "Boyfriend. He obviously wasn't prepared on Thursday night, and yesterday was… I don't know what the hell yesterday was. But you have to really explain this to him because if you're both…" _Even harder_…. "In it for the long haul, then you have to communicate about everything." He stopped, feeling a little ill. "I guess that's one of the things I learned in couples' counseling with Victoria."

_God help me, I'm telling the woman I love to talk things out with the asshat of her dreams._

"And look how well that worked out," he added dryly.

Juliet was still quiet.

"Look, even if he's only here an hour, it's better than you being on your own for two. And if you really, I mean really, don't want him here, and you don't want to call anyone else, then I'm staying, O'Hara, and that's final."

Letting out a sigh, Juliet reached toward her plate and the bacon she'd set down before. "Okay. You're right. I hate that you're right, but you are."

Relief as well as trepidation washed over him—relief she wouldn't be alone, trepidation that she'd be alone with a guy who would surely try as hard as he could to make up for recent sins. And given her track record of forgiving Spencer his asshattery, who knew what he'd walk in on when he returned?

_Quit thinking about that. You have no rights where she's concerned and you're only supposed to be serving as helper, not wanna-be suitor_.

"Okay. So you'll call him."

"After breakfast," she agreed. "And you _will_ take both sets of keys, just in case."

"Damn straight."

Later he washed up while she went back to her room to shower and dress. They were going to work on a few more cold cases this morning. To keep her cop-brain from atrophying, she said, despite his reminder that it had only been two days since Vandiver injured her.

Lassiter wasn't sure what he was going to do after things got back to normal. Logically, he knew everything should shift back into place: partners and friends by day, limited interaction after hours. It would be fine.

But what if it wasn't? She'd very likely reclaim her independence fully as soon as she could, but would she be embarrassed by how… well, how things were between them now?

He'd stroked her hair on the sofa yesterday—she'd let him. He'd been reading her to sleep, in her bedroom, feet propped up on the bed as she drifted off. He'd been touching her—her arm, her hand, her back—to guide her, to pull her away from Spencer—and he'd even massaged her forehead. _She'd_ figured out how to get her head in his lap while he napped.

That didn't sound very… detached. Partnery. That sounded (felt)… intimate.

He would not allow himself to think the word 'romantic.'

Dammit, too late.

Hell, he'd thought it was romantic to hold her hand as they strolled the park, and _who the_ _hell_ was that moron who put a flower in her hair? A flower Henry Spencer of all people had spotted and figured out in under ten seconds? God only knew what Guster was telling Spencer Junior.

He closed the dishwasher door with undue force, rattling the dishes inside.

_You're an idiot. _

_You were supposed to impersonally assist your partner, that's all. You were supposed to keep those damn feelings under control as usual._

_But no. Noooooo… you've turned into mush around her. She puts her head in your lap and you're melting like ice cream on a hot day. _

_And it doesn't matter that she's initiated much of this intimacy, because she's the one under stress. Scared about her vision, scared about her job, scared to admit it, and clinging to you because you represent her career, the familiar—_order_._

_Maybe she's even dodging Spencer because whatever the hell else the asshat is, he's real. Not like you, the by-the-book predictable defender_. _She wants to avoid the stress of dealing with him and who's safer than Carlton 'Robot' Lassiter?_

_Shut up_, he warned himself_. I am going to do what I came here to do: be helpful. Impersonal, no touchy-feely, no making moves on another man's (undeserved) girlfriend_.

"Carlton?" she asked from the hall outside her room.

"What do you need?" he called back.

"Would you come in here and tell me which of these tops has the blue flowers on it?"

Great. Now he was going to be fondling her clothing too. Surely that was one of the definitions of "you're screwed, buddy."

Lassiter bit back a sigh of despair and went to join Juliet in front of her closet. She was in her bathrobe and her legs were bare, and jeans were laid out on the bed beyond. He refused to think about what was… or wasn't… under the robe.

He found the soft and pretty blouse and put the hanger in her hand and when she smiled, honest and open and utterly gorgeous despite the bandage over her eyes, he realized there was no escape for him.

At all.

Ever.

Juliet touched his bare forearm, and dammit, he got goosebumps immediately.

"Oh," she said softly, her hand warming his agitated skin. "That's been happening to you too."

_Son. Of. A. Bitch._

"I…"

What? What were the words? What _were_ words? How did people form words and make coherent sounds? Where _the hell_ was his stunt double?

Juliet went completely pink, and this stunned him further. She slid her hand down to clasp his, and whispered his name.

The woman was asking him to kiss her.

It was unmistakable, it was real, and it was now.

_Juliet wanted him to kiss her._

And he really, really shouldn't.

But he did.

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Juliet's heart was pounding and she hoped, how she hoped, that Carlton was getting the message—the _plea_—she was sending.

And he did, after a long tension-filled moment; he did. _He kissed her_.

First the fingertips of his free hand came to caress her cheek and jaw, and then she felt the heat of his approach, and at last, the touch of his mouth. Warm and gentle, a sigh built into each brush of his lips against hers; Juliet leaned into him, her grip on the hanger loosening.

The hanger dropped and they moved into each others' arms smoothly, as if this was a dance they'd been born for, and Juliet thought later that she'd never felt so totally enthralled by a kiss in her life—and she couldn't even see the man she was kissing.

But she knew he was exactly the right man to be kissing.

She also thought—later—that it was only more proof he was the right man to kiss when he withdrew.

His hand on her shoulder now, trembling a little, he said, "You know we can't."

He moved, the hanger with the top was placed into her own trembling hand, and then she was alone.

_And _you_ know you can't. Not yet, anyway._

She heard the bedroom door close, and somehow got back over to sit weakly on the edge of the bed, her heart still racing. She'd honestly only wanted his help identifying the correct shirt. But once she touched him and felt those goosebumps—his awareness of _her_—dear God, there hadn't been anything she wanted more than to kiss him.

Lying back on the bed, Juliet tried to collect herself. But it was too soon, too soon to decompress after the sensation of Carlton's lean body tight against hers, his heart pounding to match hers, and his mouth seeking heat she suspected she'd been storing up _for him_ all these years.

Her eyes were burning and suddenly she wanted to rip the bandages off and run to him, whether she could see properly or not, and ask him to take her away from all this, to just _go_, to flee all the very good reasons he'd had to withdraw.

This had to be. It just _had to be_.

**. . . .**

**. . . **

"Trenton and the Cheerleader," Lassiter said briskly when Juliet emerged from her bedroom a short while later. "Pharmacist suspected of murdering his wife's niece in a frenzy of pom-pom induced lust, but we couldn't prove it because he was supposedly locked in his own store at the time."

He'd decided this was not the time to Talk About It.

Juliet—wearing the blue-flower blouse and looking damnably pretty, her hair brushed and her cheeks still becomingly pink—found the back of the chair and looked at him.

Well, he imagined she was looking at him, straight through the bandages. But then he could imagine a whole hell of a lot of things after that kiss, which he was NOT GOING TO THINK ABOUT RIGHT NOW.

"Didn't we also like the boyfriend for it?"

"We always like the boyfriend for it," he admitted. "More coffee?"

"Ooh, yes, please." She settled in the chair.

He poured a cup, reluctant to remind her to call Spencer simply because he didn't want to say the man's name, not now, not fifteen minutes after finding out how his girlfriend tasted, sweet and sexy and yielding—

_STOP IT._

His own cell rang then, and survival instinct kicked in. "Call your babysitter," he suggested, and put her phone in her hand while exiting the kitchen to answer his. _There, that problem solved_.

It was one of his reenactment associates, confirming the one o'clock meeting, but he drew the conversation out as long as he could—as long as he could hear Juliet's voice from the kitchen.

When he returned, she had her face turned to the sun from the window. "I told him you had to leave at noon, because I knew you'd actually have to leave by 12:30, and he haggled me down to 12:15, so he'll probably get here at 12:29."

He couldn't help but laugh a little: she certainly knew her asshat well enough to play the game. "Here's your coffee. Do you want that window open?"

"Yeah, if you don't mind. It's been so beautiful lately."

"Yes," he agreed as he opened it to let in the faint breeze and scent of spring, _and more so wherever _you_ are_. "Ready for Trenton and the pom-poms?"

"Hit me, detective."

In two hours they'd finished off the pot of coffee and decided that pharmacist Trenton, the suspect who couldn't have done it, was still in the lead. Their next move would be to go over the blueprints for the often-remodeled pharmacy and see if there wasn't some small forgotten passageway which Trenton, who'd owned the building for years, might have utilized. It was simply too large a coincidence for him to be 'locked in' the same night the recent object of his obsession was murdered.

It was interesting, he thought, working with Juliet like this. She was clear-headed and able to focus on the details despite having nothing to read or hold or examine; it was all in her brain (and possibly the coffee). He flashed back to Spencer insisting on blindfolding him with his own tie when he was suspected of Chavez' murder, asking him to concentrate and remember what he'd heard down in Holding. He'd been skeptical (when was he ever _not_ skeptical) but the asshat had been right.

Seemed to be working for Juliet, not that he planned to suggest this technique in the future.

He was putting the file back together so they could move on when she asked quietly, "What if I don't get my full vision back?"

"O'Hara, don't—"

"I'm not asking for reassurances. I'm asking what happens if I don't get it all back? Is there any way I can still be a cop?"

"You're a cop right now," he insisted. "We've made significant headway on three cold cases already _because_ you can't see."

"Carlton. I mean practically speaking. In terms of the SBPD." She was implacable, and she deserved an answer.

He downed the last of his cooling coffee. "If it were my call, I'd put you in cold cases doing just what we're doing: going over what might have been missed. You could still consult on active cases. And even in a worst-case scenario, you're not going to lose all your vision; the doctor said so himself. You might end up riding a desk but that doesn't mean you can't go on doing great police work."

Juliet relaxed. "Okay. That's what I was hoping you'd say. I didn't want to think I'd automatically be forced out on disability."

"O'Hara… Juliet. I know there's no way you _can't_ think about all this. But try not to. We still have two days before your appointment and there's no reason to assume the worst. Hell, you know how pessimistic I am, but you also know I would never lie to my partner about something like this."

He may have sounded a bit overly intense at the end, because Juliet drew back a little, a slight smile on her face.

"I know you wouldn't," she said softly. "It's one of the things I count on about you."

"You always can." He closed the file. "It's nearly eleven. You want to start another one, or do you want a break?"

Juliet was decisive now. "One more. I'm in the zone now, baby."

Lassiter grinned. She was irresistible.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Shawn knocked on the door at 12:28, and Carlton let him in. Juliet got up from the sofa and greeted him pleasantly, and in a moment he was kissing her cheek and asking her how she was.

"I'm doing good, thanks. Do I smell food?"

"Empanadas and pineapple turnovers. Lassie, I've got this," Shawn said somewhat dismissively.

Carlton (whose eyeroll she could imagine), only said, "I'll be back around three. Spencer, don't stress her out or the doctor said her head will blow up. You don't want that on your conscience, do you?"

"Uh—no, actually, I don't—"

But the door had closed firmly again, and Juliet had to get in gear.

"So, Shawn, I was thinking about what you were trying to do yesterday, and I have an idea."

"Yeah, Jules, I'm sorry about that. Gus and my dad kinda straightened me out."

"It's all right. You meant well. But I was thinking maybe we _could_ watch a movie together, if it's one I know by heart. It could be interesting for me to 'see' it in a new way."

"Excellent! Do you have _Tremors_? Because that never gets old."

"I was thinking about something that didn't rely so much on special effects. How about _While You Were Sleeping_?"

"_While You_—Jules, that is _such_ a chick flick."

"It has a great cast and funny dialogue and it's either that or _Much Ado About Nothing_. You can relate to Dogberry, can't you?"

Shawn huffed. "Fine. I'll take Pullman over Branagh."

They were both movies she'd seen half a dozen times years ago, and she figured the longer she could keep him staring at a screen, the longer she could go without talking to him.

Cowardly, yes.

Still, it _was_ Saturday. Everyone gets a day off now and then.

Shawn had also brought smoothies, of course, so they settled back on the sofa with the lunch after he put the movie in (she did have to warn him not to 'accidentally' load a different DVD).

Juliet would rather have eaten at the table because she felt more in control of where things were, but doing that would have meant delaying the not-having-to-talk aspect of the afternoon, so she made do, keeping the plate steady and hoping he wouldn't knock anything over.

She loved this movie. The bickering between Elsie and Saul ("I don't drink any more… I don't drink any _less_, either!"), their cross-conversation with Ox and Midge—it kind of reminded her of listening to Shawn and Gus arguing.

The dilemma of being attached to one guy and falling for another was a bit more personal this time around. While she suspected most people wouldn't compare Carlton's basic nature to Jack's easy charm, it wasn't difficult to see Shawn in Peter's vanity. And Peter wasn't even a bad guy… he just wasn't the _right_ guy, and listening to Lucy figure that out hit her on a lot of levels today.

Shawn held up under the 'chick flick' pretty well. He thought Sandra Bullock was hot anyway, and declared that Joe Fusco stole the movie out from everyone else.

It ended too soon, in her opinion, and it was hard not to get misty at the final scenes just like she always did—_do not cry do not cry_—so instead she let her mind wander a bit to this morning, and kissing Carlton, and wanting Carlton, and _dammit you need to stop it because you are sitting here next to your_ _freakin'_ _boyfriend_.

He shut the DVD down and yawned. "Not bad for a chick flick."

"You've grown in the last ninety minutes if you can admit that."

"I grow every day, Jules. And please do not make cracks about body size. Hey, what'd you have to do to get Lassie to let me come over?" He leaned in closer and found her hand; she could smell the pineapple and thought it was cloying.

"Nothing. It was _his_ idea."

"Oh. Really? Wait… what?" He shifted on the sofa, letting go of her hand, and from the rustle she knew he'd picked up a pillow to hold as he so often did. "So you didn't want me here?"

"It's not that," she lied. "I was trying to assert my independence a little."

"Oh, yeah, I bet he's regimented the hell out of your day. I can't even imagine what it's been like to be at the mercy of Detective Roboto."

Juliet fought not to snap at him. "He's been great, Shawn. I meant… remember what I said yesterday? Best case scenario, I'm looking at a few weeks where I won't be able to work much, if at all. But I need to know I can be on my own after the bandages come off, and I was trying to convince Carlton to let me test the waters."

"So he drained the pool."

"Ahh… yeah." She smiled. "But he was right. It's too soon, and being totally unable to see isn't the same as merely having impaired vision. You don't just jump into sightlessness without some major adjustments. Plus…" she hesitated, her stomach roiling a little. "He thought we should… talk."

Shawn's tone was pure disbelief. "Lassie? Thought _we_ should talk? About _what_?"

_About what_. Juliet sighed. "About us. About what happened the last two times you and I were together. About you not listening to me."

He was silent. "I'm listening now."

"I needed you to listen to me Thursday night when I was scared and just wanted to go home."

"You didn't tell me you were scared."

"I shouldn't have had to tell you. The mere fact that I said I wanted to go home should have been enough." _It was enough for Carlton_.

"Jules, it was a stressful day. We thought we might have lost you."

That was extreme. So far as she knew, at no point was her life in danger. Still, let it go.

"I know, but although I wouldn't normally expect to put myself first, it really was about _me_ that night. And you overrode me. Repeatedly. Then yesterday—yes, I _let_ you talk me into leaving here, but you… you _lied_ about where we were going. That's all there is to it, you know? You lied and kidnapped me to the place I said I didn't want to go, to do something _you_ wanted to do. You didn't listen."

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I just wanted to show I could take care of you."

"I get that. But if you won't listen to me at a time in my life when it's never been more important, and you already don't listen to me about anything else—like when I told you repeatedly I didn't want my father back in my life—and I've seen firsthand how you don't listen to Carlton or Gus or your father or even Chief Vick when your job's on the line—how do I know you'll _ever_ listen to me about _anything_?"

Shawn was silent.

She… she was going to do this.

"Carlton said if we were in it for the long haul, I needed to talk to you plainly about all this." She could feel her hands trembling. "But the truth is… I don't think I'm in this for the long haul anymore. I think I… want off the truck."

"Wait," he said sharply. "What does Lassie have to do with anything about our relationship?"

_Right now, everything… but really… really? Nothing_. "What does _anyone_ else have to do with our relationship?" she countered.

"Anyone who can make you think you have to break up with me is—"

"No, Shawn. I just told you: he's the one who advised me to talk to you."

"So you've been talking to him about us," he accused. "That's like consorting with the enemy, Jules!"

"I have not discussed our relationship with him! But he has eyes, Shawn, and twice in the last two days he pulled me out of high-stress situations with you. He knows how upset I was and he's not an idiot! When he suggested you come sit with me this afternoon, _I_ said hell no and he's the one who talked me into it. So don't you suggest he's trying to sabotage or interfere because it's not true and I won't tolerate you saying that." If she could have been sure of her target, she might have punctuated it with a punch to his arm.

His silence was angry, palpable between them, and she wasn't feeling at all well now.

"I'm not breaking up with a blindfolded woman," he said flatly. "This hasn't been easy for me, Jules. I don't deal well with this kind of thing and I almost lost my dad a few months ago. This is the first time since we've been together that I've had to face the possibility of losing _you_ because of your job and if I've screwed up, well, that's how I cope. I know it's stupid but it's how I cope, by being stupid. You can't throw me out just because of one screw-up."

_I can if it was _my_ screw-up: getting involved with you in the first place_.

"Shawn… you know it's more than this weekend. You know that. You can't have been totally deaf to everything I've talked to you about this past year."

"Yes I can, Jules. I'm good at that too. But it doesn't mean I don't want to hear, or that I can't hear, or that I can't learn!"

"Choosing not to hear is the same as not wanting to. And I know perfectly well how smart a guy you are. But you've spent your whole life rebelling against anyone telling you what to do and that has to include me. In fact it _has_ included me, on many occasions. You're not ready to adapt to another person sharing your emotional life. You might be some day, but it's not happening now and I don't think it's going to happen with me because I can't wait anymore. I need you to be able to listen to me _now_, when I need it. When I ask you. _Because_ I ask you."

"I've done good today, haven't I?" he protested. "I brought you lunch, I sat here and watched a chick flick. What about that?"

"Shawn." Her head was aching, and she rubbed her forehead.

"Jules, I can't let you do this. Not like this. You get those bandages off and look me in the eye to tell me it's over, okay. But not today. Not while you're in the middle of all this crap, not with Lassie living with you and controlling your every—"

"Stop it!" she yelled, jumping up from the sofa and backing away until she hit the chair. "Stop it." _Do not cry do not cry do not cry_. "I think you should leave," she managed after a few deep breaths. "In fact, I want you to leave. Right now."

"Jules, I'm sorry." Conciliatory, anxious. He got up and came to where she stood and put his arms around her but she couldn't relax and didn't want him. "Look, Lassie won't be here for another twenty minutes at least. Let's just sit down and—"

"No." She felt more composed now, though she still might be sick. "Please just go. I'll be fine."

He dropped his arms, sighing. "Okay. But I meant what I said. We don't break up until you can look me in the eye to say so. That's fair, Jules. It's not asking too much. You don't know how you're going to feel in a few days."

_Yeah, I do._

"All right. But please… just go."

She didn't start to feel better until the door was closed behind him and she could hear his bike starting up down below.

_Get home soon, Carlton. I might not be able to talk to you about this but I just want you here. _

_I need you here._

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Lassiter got home—having exceeded the posted speed limits more than once—just past three, and was immediately uneasy that Spencer's bike was nowhere in sight. He raced up the stairs and tried the door, which was unlocked, and opened it to find Juliet sitting in the center of the sofa, arms tight around her middle.

"O'Hara?" His heart twisted at seeing her so small and anxious.

"Carlton," she said miserably, and stood up; when he got to her and touched her shoulder she immediately put her arms around him and held on.

He hugged her tight, because that's what she needed, and he sure as hell didn't mind, and let her just cling for a minute.

Her hair smelled so nice and she was warm and he could feel her calming down. A glance around the room showed the remains of lunch on the coffee table and the TV on but muted. No signs of… well, what the hell kind of signs would there be?

"Let's sit down," he suggested.

She sank back onto the sofa but as soon as he sat beside her, she leaned over and put her head in his lap. He inserted a pillow between them so she'd be more comfortable, stroked her arm soothingly, and simply waited.

After awhile she rolled on to her back and caught his hand, idly playing with his fingers as if his hand were some abstract toy, and he didn't mind that either. It felt intimate and exploratory, things he shouldn't be encouraging, but it was nice.

"How long have you been alone?" he asked gently.

"Not long. Twenty minutes. It was fine until I picked a fight with him."

"Picking a fight doesn't sound like you, O'Hara."

"Talking about us, picking a fight—it's all the same from his point of view."

He bit back a remark about a dumbass point of view. "So it went well, then."

Small chuckle. "Yeah. I'm just so tired, Carlton. He's just so completely exhausting." She clasped his hand with the full of hers, linking their fingers and then covering them both with her other hand. "You clear all that away."

Lassiter hesitated. "I'm a cop. I'm supposed to restore order."

Juliet smiled. "You've been doing a wonderful job the last few days."

She pulled his hand down to rest on her chest, which brought a flush to his face even though he knew she didn't mean it suggestively. But he couldn't ignore the softness of her body under his forearm and hand.

Sighing deeply, she asked about his meeting, and he told her various bits of nonsense from his fellow reenactors, including that Simmons wanted to bring in a Shetland pony and the woman playing the second nurse didn't see why she had to wear the nurse's cap, since it would cover up her new streak job.

Lassiter liked making her smile, and especially liked seeing her relaxing and coming back to a normal state, if you could call lying with her head in his lap and his hand to her heart 'normal.'

Although nothing was normal lately between them lately.

"Carlton," she said gently.

"Juliet?"

"I… I just appreciate you so much. I did before this weekend but now… it's a different, deeper kind of appreciation. You've really gone above and beyond for me."

He swallowed. "I don't think I have. I think I've made a few sandwiches and poured some coffee for my friend."

Her smile was slow and knowing, and she pulled his hand to her mouth to kiss his fingers.

_Dear God._

"You can deny all you want but I know the truth." Another kiss to his hand and she sighed again. "And you know the truth, too."

"What truth is that?" he whispered.

Juliet shifted, sitting up but turning herself toward him; he had to circle her back with his arm to help keep her balanced.

"That things will never be the same between us," she whispered back, reaching up to touch his face gently.

Lassiter couldn't speak and would have done anything to get those damn bandages off and _see her eyes_… even if it meant she'd see into his.

"And that both of us like that a lot," she added, and unerringly found his mouth with hers.

The shock of sweet desire flooded him, and not kissing her was unthinkable. For long minutes he explored her soft lips and persistent tongue and felt the mutual heat rising between them. Juliet was hungry, her hands in his hair as his slipped into hers, and all that Not Thinking About It earlier wasn't doing him a damn bit of good, because here he was yet again making out with another man's girlfriend.

"Yeah," he said raggedly, putting her away from him. "Both of us do like that a lot. But you're not free and you don't have any idea how you'll feel about this after you see the doctor Monday morning." _And you just had a fight with your boyfriend and kissing me is for damn sure not the way to work through that_.

Juliet rested her head on his chest, breathing hard.

Lassiter just held her, because he didn't know what else to do or say, and they stayed like that a long time, quiet and close.

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Juliet didn't ask Carlton to read to her that night.

She understood why he'd pushed her away. He was right to do so, because he thought she was still with Shawn. Shawn thought she was still with Shawn, too, but Shawn was in denial. For her it was unequivocally over and done, and 20/20 vision, sky-writing and hundred-foot-tall billboards could not make it clearer in her mind and heart.

Even if she didn't know she was fully Carlton's, there was nothing for her with Shawn, not anymore. Probably there hadn't ever been.

But she couldn't decide if it was fair to tell Carlton this now, while Shawn thought there was a chance, since she'd pretty much promised to look him in the eyes to say goodbye.

And they could wait… _she_ could wait. A little longer. But not too long, or Carlton might put up the walls again.

So after awhile of holding each other on the sofa, he'd gently urged her to sit up and away, and he disposed of the debris of her lunch with Shawn, turned off the TV she hadn't even known was still on, and finally suggested they work some more cold cases.

This got them back onto a normal track of sorts. It helped clear her head, trying to solve the old puzzles, and something as simple as irritating Carlton with suggestions counter to his theories made her feel optimistic. The moment he gave in and laughed at something she said, she knew it could be okay again.

Still... to have these bandages off and look into his blue eyes would have been the best gift the world could give her right then. Even if he was only scowling at her, Juliet could not _wait_ to see even a blurry Carlton Lassiter.

But no chapter three of _Flicka_ that night. She neither wanted him to think she had no self-control, nor find out for herself that she had no self-control.

(She had no self-control. She'd even contemplated trying to play footsie with him under the kitchen table just as he was detailing how the murder weapon was used to end the life of Marvin Conporteau.)

Sunday morning he made her a delightful omelet breakfast and while they were being friendly but not intimate, she suggested a walk around the park in the sunshine for exercise purposes. It had been too many days since she'd gotten to jog and she needed to stay halfway together.

The walk was brisk—he let her set the pace—and she kept tight hold of his hand, but it wasn't like Friday night, and she let him have that bit of breathing room for now. (Not that this stopped her enjoying his long graceful fingers interlinked with hers.)

_You care for me, Carlton. We both know it, and I need you to believe I care for you. But if we need to go slow, we'll go slow_.

Late in the morning she called home and talked to her mother while Carlton took care of some tasks related to their active cases via laptop. She even convinced him to leave her alone later for one hour, no more no less, so he could run by his place and pick up a few more articles of clothing; they'd agreed he would stay with her at least through Monday night to see how her first day sans bandage went.

(She wouldn't mind if he stayed forever, but best not to suggest that right now.)

Her mother was horrified that Juliet hadn't called earlier, and offered to get on the next plane. Juliet assured her it wasn't necessary, because Carlton was taking good care of her.

Her mother said dubiously, "Your partner? Is he staying with you?"

She wasn't sure where he was in the apartment; she was curled up on the sofa and thought he was at the kitchen table with his laptop, but what the hell; she would tell the truth. "He's my best friend, Mom. There isn't anyone else I'd rather have looking after me."

"Oh. Things have changed, then."

"Not really. He's been my best friend for years."

"Well, when I met him—"

"Long time ago, Mom," she said more quietly. "You've heard me say plenty of good things about him since then."

"Well, yes, but I thought you were just being nice. You do like to pick up strays."

She felt a flash of anger toward her mother but it quickly faded, because how could she know? "There isn't a better man," she said simply. "He's more important to me than anyone else."

Her mother was quiet. "Julie, that's a serious statement. What about your boyfriend?"

"That ended," she said.

"Oh?"

"Yes. How are the boys? What do you hear from Ewan?"

Her mother hesitated a bit longer, but let it go for now. Juliet had taught her, in her years away from Miami, to respect the limits her grown daughter set, and although Juliet would of course tell her eventually, today wasn't the day.

After the call ended, Carlton came from wherever he'd been and said he was going to run those errands now, and asked if she needed anything.

_Just you_, she thought.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Lassiter did what he needed to do quickly and efficiently. He didn't intend to be away for more than the prescribed one hour and yet it was difficult not to call her at the halfway point to check on her.

_She's fine, Lassiter. She's not trying to paint the ceiling or bungee jump from the balcony. She's listening to music and calling friends and family_.

_And she told her mother she didn't know a better man than you._

He blushed, even in the privacy of his car. He blushed to know she'd said that to a woman who surely only remembered him as a buffoon who'd terrorized her grandchildren.

He hadn't missed her changing the subject fairly quickly, which meant her mother hadn't forgotten a thing about that Christmas.

Yet Juliet had been firm, and quiet, and he knew she meant every word.

His heart was pounding just thinking about it.

_What if this all came true? What if… what if? What if there's an actual chance this woman cares enough to be with you?_

Then she'd be insane.

Because surely _he_ was for considering it: she was with Spencer. She had chosen Spencer. She had forgiven the asshat over and over and there was no reason to think she wouldn't do it again.

He had time for one more stop: her favorite Chinese place, for sesame chicken and spring rolls, and used the siren to make it back home—home, yeah, because it felt like that now—merely two minutes past his personal deadline.

He was bounding up the steps carrying the Chinese and his overnight bag when she flung the door open wide, a smile on her lovely face, and it was amazing that he could 'see' the light in her dark blue eyes despite the damned bandage covering them.

"Hey," he said unsteadily, because her smile was utterly breathtaking, and he was hopelessly in love with her. "You okay?"

"I'm just glad you're back," she said simply. "I was listening for your car. Oooh, do I detect Chinese food?"

"Yes, you do." He went through to the kitchen, listening to her locking up, and by the time they'd dispatched most of the chicken and spring rolls things were as normal between them as they could be.

He still wanted to rip her clothes off and take her right there on the table, but he'd felt that way about a thousand times over the years so it was nothing new, nothing he couldn't handle. Pish, in fact. Old news.

"You're smiling," she said suddenly, smiling herself.

He wouldn't deny it. "How can you tell?"

"I just know." She bit into the last spring roll, laughing a little. "Women's intuition. I think this bandage has been a real… oh God, I was about to say 'eye-opener,'" she laughed. "But it has. I know it's only been a few days but I do feel like I'm experiencing some things differently, more clearly, without my vision."

"Good, because we have a few more cold cases to solve."

"And I like your smile. Especially the cheeky one when you think you've gotten away with something."

Lassiter would not laugh. He drawled, "I never think that without due cause."

"And I especially love it when you blush," she teased.

Which made him blush. "O'Hara," he warned her. "Don't mock the guy who brought you lunch."

"Certainly not." Her tone was mock formality. "Head Detective. What's our next case?"

"The small matter of the housewife, the toaster oven and the plumber."

"Oh, my favorite. Shame about the oven."

He had to laugh. "The house burned down, the plumber sued, the housewife fled to Jamaica for six months, no one ever identified the body, and you're sad about the _oven_?"

"Just wanted to hear you laugh," she admitted, and if she could have seen his blush then she'd have felt total victory over his poor besotted heart.

And he'd have been okay with that.

Then she said, "I need to tell you something."

He waited a moment, but she seemed to require a nudge. "Yes?"

"When Shawn was here yesterday, I broke up with him."

Lassiter was stunned, and a host of competing thoughts and emotions bellied up to the bar in his head.

"He… he said he wouldn't accept it until I get the bandages off. But it's over, Carlton. And I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow or whether you and I will have a chance to talk like this again soon so I wanted to tell you now. When it's still… calm." She took a breath.

He took a breath too. "Are you all right?" That was all he could manage. He wondered if he looked as gobsmacked as he felt.

She shrugged. "Yes. And he will be."

Lassiter remembered gradually how to breathe. "Okay."

"Okay," Juliet said more lightly. "So let's solve the murder of the toaster oven."

**. . . .**

**. . . **

They took a break after a few hours, initiated by Carlton getting a call from the station about an arrestee who was claiming to have been present at the birth of Lady Gaga to Carlton himself. From what she could tell, he was declining to go in and speak to the claimant, but while he was preoccupied, she found her way to the back door and stepped into the afternoon sunshine for a few minutes.

While he was out at noon, she'd had a sort of epiphany, and it was simple: she couldn't afford to tiptoe around him and his fears. She decided she would tell him about Shawn when the moment seemed right, because easing his fears about that was the best course of action if it meant he'd be more open-minded about what was happening between them.

Because it _was_ happening.

She had _felt_ his happiness at seeing her when she opened the door—she had sensed it from head to toe. She herself had been so unaccountably happy to hear his car (and he'd only been gone an hour!) that she'd have run down the stairs to meet him if she'd thought he wouldn't scold her about it after she inevitably fell on her butt.

Yes, she could keep it friendly and stick to the job; she could… for _now_. But there was so much more ahead and even tantalizing glimpses of it were better than pretending there was nothing at all.

And then… then she'd just told him.

She hadn't added "so stop resisting me," but she'd told him it was over with Shawn, and she'd heard his intake of breath, and she imagined his eyebrows were sky-high, and she imagined his eyes were the blue of a stormy sea as he processed everything it could possibly mean, and then she let it be.

He could percolate.

She smiled into the sunshine she couldn't see, and when from inside the apartment she heard Carlton snap, "I don't care if he says I fathered Gunga Din; I'm not going down there to give a DNA sample!" she laughed and laughed and felt nothing but optimism for the rest of her life with this man.

Her appointment tomorrow, on the other hand...

**. . . .**

**. . . **

Juliet wanted to keep going, as the afternoon wore on. She wanted to pursue every angle of every case, including revisiting the Trenton cheerleader murder, and Lassiter finally figured out she was getting anxious about tomorrow, and her doctor's appointment.

Long past the time they should have had dinner he finally said, "We're stopping."

"But—"

"We need to eat, and we've solved enough crime for one day."

Juliet's hand crept up to her temple, to the edge of the bandage, as it had frequently during the last few hours.

"O'Hara," he said quietly. "It's going to be fine."

Her hand dropped at once, and she sighed, shoulders sinking a little. "I know."

"It's going to be fine," he repeated. "If the pessimist says so, you have to believe."

She smiled a little. "I know."

"Stop thinking about it and tell me what you'd like for dinner."

No hesitation. "Lucky Charms."

"Uh… okay. Do you _have_ Lucky Charms?"

"No. But they're magically delicious." Straight face.

Lassiter snickered. "I think I remember a parody song about evil leprechauns… something like 'frosted Lucky Charms; he'll blow your ass to pieces.'"

Juliet dissolved into laughter and started singing the phrase over and over until he had to bribe her to stop by giving her two of the cookies from the cookie jar.

He started looking through her cupboards as she munched. "How about pancakes?"

She agreed that pancakes would be a lovely substitute for the cereal she didn't have, and after he put away their casefiles he got to work, reflecting that he'd really enjoyed cooking for her the past few days and would miss it.

Mostly he would miss having his evening meal with her.

Mostly he would miss being with her all the time, and he suspected settling for their workplace interaction would be a poor substitute for quite a while.

Mostly he would miss kissing her.

He paused while mixing the batter, and sighed, and from behind him, Juliet asked if everything was all right.

Yeah. No.

Someday?

No.

Because as much as he _wanted_ to believe it could be true, he couldn't allow himself to go there yet. Not so long as Spencer held out hope. Not so long as Spencer held one iota of a chance to convince Juliet to forgive him and go round again. And again. And again.

_Best to assume the worst_, he told himself. _Now shut up and make the pancakes_.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

"Carlton," she said softly. "Are you out here?"

He jerked to attention, having dozed off on the sofa again, the TV turned low. "Yes. O'Hara. You okay?"

She came to the back of the sofa and he turned to see her. She had on some short thin cotton gown, silky and pretty, but her face was a little haggard. It was nearly one a.m.

"I'm having some trouble getting to sleep. Would you… would you read me Chapter Three?"

"Sure," he said at once, finding _Flicka_ on the coffee table. He'd been sorry, despite his certainty they needed distance, that she hadn't asked for a reading last night or tonight, but he would do anything to make her more comfortable this close to the appointment she was stressing over.

He followed her into the bedroom, unable not to admire her shapely legs, and she climbed into her bed while he turned on the lamp at the other side and pulled the old rocker up close.

"Thanks," she said, turning on her side as if to see him.

"Thank _you_," he countered, earning a faint smile, and began to read.

He kept his voice low and even, and her movements suggested she finally fell asleep about two-thirds of the way through. But he read on for a while to be sure, until he could hear her even breathing.

He remained in the rocker, watching over her, wishing for everything good for the morning, until he drifted off himself.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

"No! No! You can't—I can't—Carlton!"

Lassiter woke with a start and cleared his muzzy head and to his horror, saw Juliet on her back in the bed, working furiously at tearing the tape from her temples, trying hard to get the bandages off, crying out in frustration and fear. She'd kicked free of the sheet and her bare legs were in motion, as if she were running pell-mell.

He went on pure instinct: out of the rocker and over the bed and straddling in her in one fairly smooth motion, pulling her hands away from her face and pinning her wrists to the bed. "Stop! Juliet, stop!"

She was gasping for air and the left side of the bandage was loose. "No, no, I have to—I have to see Carlton! I have to see Carlton!"

"I'm right here," he promised, but it was difficult; she was fighting underneath him, fighting to get her arms free. He applied more of his weight to her body, immobilizing her at least from the waist down, and kept her arms still with sheer and considerable force. "Juliet… easy, honey, I'm _right_ _here_."

Her breath was hitching and her distress was huge but he kept whispering to her, soothing her slowly until she knew where she was and could speak again.

"They told me they were taking the bandages off at eight but I wouldn't be able to see you. They said I could see everything else but not you, not ever again, and it was happening at eight and I had to find you before then, Carlton, because I had to get to you so we could run away but they were chasing me and said I wasn't allowed and you weren't there and I couldn't see you and I—I—"

"I'm here," he said firmly, and God help him, he kissed her forehead. "No one can throw me out of your life except you, Juliet. Ever."

He kissed her forehead again and then her soft cheek, intending to soothe, not having any idea what he was doing, and she let out a long shuddery breath.

"I had to get this thing off," she said sadly, "because it was a barrier between us."

Lassiter knew what she meant. "It's not, Juliet. I swear it's not. It's just… you need time."

"I thought seven years might be enough," she whispered.

He swallowed, aware suddenly of his position over her slim warm body and how close they were at all the right spots. But he couldn't say anything. Not a word.

Juliet relaxed, and he released one of her wrists so he could re-stick the loose tape on the side of her bandage. But this gave her the freedom to touch his face, and he was half-lost in that instant. He didn't resist when she wriggled her other wrist free, and then she was touching his face with both hands, exploring the terrain of his cheeks and jaw and forehead and eyebrows, gentle and warm, and it was inevitable that she'd draw him down to kiss her.

Inevitable, yeah. Sweet at first, then quickly heated, her lips like silk and the heat of her mouth like fire he hoped _would_ consume him.

She shifted underneath him and somehow, possibly with his help, worked one leg free so that one of his was between hers, and damn but that little nightgown was so very, very thin.

Lassiter knew he should roll the hell off of her _at once_.

But she moved her hands again, down to his waist, pulling his tee up, kissing him more and more deeply, murmuring his name between gasps and kisses and hooking that freed leg over his thigh and allowing him to feel all of her heat and need in one go.

"Juliet," he pleaded, "we can't…"

She said nothing. The tee came off.

"We can't," he repeated, with the difficulty one might associate with the fact that he could not get his tongue away from hers.

Then somehow he was touching her breasts through the thin, thin gown, and she was sighing under him, and her hands slid under his flannel pants to find bare skin, and still his mouth was locked to hers.

"We can't," he groaned.

"We are," she assured him, and he didn't know how she did it with his body pressed to hers, but she got that nightgown off and cast it into the dimness beyond the bed and then somehow his mouth was on her breasts directly, suckling at her and drinking in the scent and very feel of her soft, warm skin.

Juliet gasped each time his tongue flicked her nipples, and her undulations below the waist were getting more anxious. Her panties and his flannel pants were going to have to go; even in his addled state he understood this was more important than anything else, and the voice which had been saying "we can't" had packed its bags and left town, because they most certainly _were_.

Yes, they most certainly were.

Juliet was insistent about his pants coming off _now_, and while he was doing that she was slipping out of her panties, and the moment he settled his nude body down on top of hers he knew he'd achieved his personal nirvana.

Surely _nothing_ could be better than this.

He was wrong.

It turned out that having his beloved Juliet welcome him deeply—so deeply—into the silky heat of her curvy, warm, yielding, needful body was The Best Thing Ever, in the history of the universe, since time began… and for as long as time would last.

He made _this_ last, and so did Juliet—they moved together in a wicked and delicious rhythm, ever deeper, ever hotter, and he saw stars forming and exploding in his field of vision. He saw everything and felt everything and loved all of her.

Juliet raked her fingernails down his back lightly, but there was need behind it, and with his release came hers, by way of his hand between them, touching this woman he loved so intimately that she cried out his name again and again until coherent speech left her and there were only gasps of pleasure.

And no more bad dreams when they slept again.

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Juliet woke to a kiss at the back of her neck, and then one on her shoulder, and she smiled and was afraid of absolutely nothing, because Carlton was her lover now and she was safe in his arms.

What time it was, she couldn't have cared less. All she wanted was to stay like this in the best darkness of her life, the darkness in which Carlton was there, fully hers, and murmuring her name against her sensitive throat, his chest to her back, his arms around her middle, and, when she turned her head, his lips on hers.

But gradually the words he was saying became clearer: it was past 6:30 and they had to get up, because her appointment was at eight and they could not be late.

He slid out of bed and was gone from her field of sensation, and she couldn't tell whether he had fled or was merely being practical (which would amount to having fled).

She rolled onto her back sighing, and granted herself a few minutes to relive the night.

The dream had been terrifying: the voices were implacable, telling her she could not ever see Carlton again, that her vision would be perfect but he wouldn't be there, and every part of her soul screamed that this could not be and she had to fight it. Getting the bandage off was paramount, because if she could find him before 'they' took over, everything would be okay.

When he pinned her down to control her, to wake her and soothe her—once she realized it was him—everything changed. It was only a bandage, and _he was there_. Carlton would always be there. He said so—and she knew it anyway.

Then the kissing started. Well, _she_ started it. Again. She couldn't help it. And the rest was a dark blur of perfect passion and love, unstoppable and unforgettable.

Juliet shivered, thinking of his touches to her body and the sensation of their deepest connection.

This would happen again.

And many more times after that. She knew it. She knew _he_ knew it.

But it was time to get up, to shower and dress and go see the damn doctor who held her temporary fate in his hands… or in his medical charts and test results anyway.

However, after her shower and wrapped in a large soft towel, she realized she needed a little help with her wardrobe. Going to the door and listening a moment, she heard Carlton in the kitchen and smelled the wonderful and unmistakable aroma of coffee. Should she put on her robe?

_Uh, no, stupid._

"Carlton, could I borrow your big blue eyes for a minute?"

"Just a sec," he called, and joined her almost that quickly. He'd obviously had time to shower and shave judging by the pleasant scents emanating from his personage, though she'd had no complaints about the scent of sex and sweat and shared desire from the night.

_Concentrate, girl._

"I'd like to wear the black skirt and a pale blue blouse. Today of all days I don't want to be a fashion laughingstock."

He slid his hand down her bare back in a possessive caress as he reached into the closet with his free hand. "There's two black skirts."

"Um, the one with silver trim at the waist."

"Got it. So you'll want this blouse," he concluded, and hangers rattled as he shifted clothing. "Here you go, my lovely, hanging from the dresser knob."

"Thanks," she said appreciatively, delighted he was relaxed enough to talk to her this way.

"Anything else you need?"

Juliet couldn't resist. Reaching out to touch his chest—happily bare where his shirt wasn't buttoned; he hadn't finished dressing yet—with her fingertips, she felt his heat, as well as his shiver. "You know," she said unsteadily, "a girl likes her bra and panties to match too."

Slowly, as Carlton let out a breath, his hand came to cover hers, and he leaned in very close, nearly pressing her to the side of the dresser. His faint cologne was sensual and his warmth was magnetic.

"O'Hara," he growled, "if I get anywhere _near_ your panties, they're for damn sure not going _on_."

Her heart stopped as his lips grazed her jaw, his breath tickling her cheek.

"And we definitely won't make that 8:00 appointment," he added, nibbling her earlobe and reducing her to goo.

"I don't mind the dark a little longer," she said urgently, and lifted her arms up around his neck.

With that motion, her towel dropped, and his warm hands immediately managed to touch as much of her bare skin as he could when he pulled her close to him, impossibly close, his hot mouth locked to hers now because that much at least there was time for. That much they could not do without, and she didn't need to see his glorious blue eyes to know it.

"No… time," he said with difficulty, although his hands stroking her backside suggested he'd like to make time.

"Don't care," she moaned against his throat, and damn if she didn't seriously actually not care, since nibbling his earlobe was ever so much more important right now.

"O'Hara…"

"Take me to bed right now, Carlton," she pleaded.

"God, woman—" He laughed. "No. Stop it. _There_ _is no time_. And the doctor doesn't need to be asking you why your pulse is so fast or your skin is so flushed." He disentangled himself from her.

Juliet was now cross as well as aroused. "You're turning down a naked woman who wants you."

"Yes, because I'm a freaking whackaloonatic moron. Get dressed, Juliet. For the love of God. Because if we don't make that appointment, people will come looking for us, and I do not intend to risk being interrupted the next time we make love."

"Oh," she said, feeling a blush overtake her. "Okay then."

"I _am_ a whackaloon," he muttered as he left, calling back one more "Get dressed!" before he shut the door.

She was still aroused, but the words "next time" would hold her over for now.

**. . . .  
****. . .**

Lassiter wasn't sure when he'd turned the corner exactly and started believing he had a future with Juliet. It wasn't as simple as having made love with her.

It started to sink in while he was showering, and settled over him completely as he made coffee. By the time she called his name from her room, his heart had completely taken over his common sense.

(And how in the hell he had _not_ dragged her gorgeous nude self back to the bed to have at her he would never, ever understand.)

His common sense said there were still risks. Spencer could convince her to give him another chance. Or he could be so difficult about everything that Juliet would put anything new on hold until it was sorted out. Or she might wake up in a few days and see that her dependence upon Lassiter had only been during her temporary blindness, and getting her vision back would include seeing it was foolish to think of _him_ as a romantic partner.

A lot could still happen, and his heart could be trumped.

But right now… right now. He would believe.

They were driving to the hospital, with a little time to spare, and Juliet was growing more nervous—more quiet—as they got closer. He reached over and took her hand, and she grasped it gratefully albeit wordlessly, holding on tight.

His phone rang and he had to let go of her to see who it was. "Vick," he told her.

Juliet was instantly panicked. "No—she can't call you in. She can't—not now, I need you—"

"Juliet, stop. Not even a multiple homicide involving nuns, orphans and Starbucks can take me away from you this morning."

Her hands were clenching.

"_Two_ Starbucks, maybe," he added, and thank God, she smiled at that, taking a breath and settling down. He answered the phone with a brisk, "Chief! Please tell me this does not involve orphans at Starbucks."

Vick said with surprise, "No, actually, I was saving that for later in the week, and I'm not sure I approve of children drinking coffee anyway. O'Hara's appointment is this morning, right?"

"We're on our way now."

"Where is it exactly? I'd like to come down for the news, and…" she hesitated, and he thought she might be smiling, "there's a few other folks who might tag along. O'Hara's got a lot of supporters at the SBPD, you know."

He felt warmth in his chest on his beloved Juliet's behalf. "I know she does, and I think she'd like to see as many of you as she can." He gave her the information and disconnected, reclaiming Juliet's hand afterward. "Vick's bringing the troops in to see you."

She sighed. "That's so sweet." Now her phone rang, and she fished it out of her skirt pocket, handing it over to him. "Who is it?"

"Guster," he said shortly. "You should talk to him."

Juliet nodded, and took the phone back.

From what he gathered, Guster was also asking about her appointment, and it sounded as if Spencer intended to be in the waiting room as well. Juliet said they were welcome to come, but there wasn't much enthusiasm in her tone.

Lassiter would have preferred to be alone when he got the doctor's report, but it would make Juliet happy to know so many people had come to see her, and he would be content with that. Besides, he was pretty sure _he'd_ be the one taking her home, unless Spencer pulled off some miracle in the waiting room.

Juliet stayed quiet after that, nervous again (or maybe wondering about Spencer) while he found a parking space and stopped the car.

She let go of his hand so he could turn off the engine.

"Ready?"

"Yes and no," she managed.

He got out of the car and went to her side, taking her arm to lead her into the building, and he said little nothings to her as they walked, remarks about the ridiculous clothes people were wearing and their various bad hair days and where he would take her for breakfast after they were done here.

_If she wants that._

Juliet was mostly silent, although she gave him a faint smile from time to time, and her hand when he took it in the elevator was chilly.

"Come on, girl. This is the easy part." He squeezed her hand, leaning against her, and Juliet suddenly turned and hugged him hard, surprising him, but he knew to put his arms around his beloved, and to glare fiercely at the people who got on at the next floor and stared at them. "Easy now," he murmured to her, and after another few moments she lifted her flushed face from his jacket and took her place at his side.

There was just the long walk now down to the waiting area, but thankfully Juliet was called back as soon as she signed in. "You'll be here," she said to Lassiter, urgent. "That's not a question."

"Then you already know the answer," he said simply, and watched the nurse lead her away.

The next twenty-nine minutes were the longest he could remember—not counting the dreadful time at the hospital on Thursday, waiting to find out if she'd been blinded.

Others arrived during this period: Vick and Henry, Buzz McNab and even Officer Allen. Miller and Dobson showed up as well, and finally, half an hour into the wait, Spencer came in, bleary-eyed, trailed by Guster.

"Lassie," he said without enthusiasm.

Guster nodded and asked how long they'd been waiting.

"Since the appointment began… half an hour ago." He actually did try to keep the snark out of his tone.

Guster shrugged. "I tried to get him here on time. This is actually pretty good considering how early it is for him."

Spencer sank into one of the chairs. "How is she, Lass?"

Lassiter eyed Guster, wondering if Spencer had told him Juliet ended their relationship. Guster met his gaze dispassionately. _Yeah, he knows_.

"She's fine. Nervous about today, but fine."

"Yeah. She would be." He yawned, and looked unhappy. "She's a fine person generally, you know, and feeling fine is just what she'd do." He paused. "Which is fine. It's fine. Fiiiine. Funny word, fine. Larry Fine was a funny guy. Now funny sounds funny. But that's fine too."

Pacing would be better than trying to talk to this guy, so Lassiter resumed that. He thought maybe he should feel more guilty about his night with Juliet but… but she'd _ended_ it with Spencer. She _was_ free. And she'd wanted _him_. There was nothing to feel guilty about.

So he felt a little guilty anyway. But it was manageable, because right now he was going slowly insane wondering what was happening down in the doctor's office.

Guster sat down next to Spencer, then got up and moved one seat away after Spencer sprawled out disconsolately.

Henry came to Lassiter when he was at the far wall. "And how are _you_ doing?"

"_Me_?"

He gave him a wry smile, speaking in a low voice. "Yeah, Lassiter, you. You've been looking after your partner—and I imagine, best friend—for days. I assume this is as important for you as it is for her."

Lassiter blinked. "Yeah," he said slowly. "It is." He could admit that much, even to Spencer The Elder.

"No one's been easing _your_ mind the way you've probably been easing hers," Henry suggested.

He felt his cheeks warming. "Henry, I'm fine. Getting Juliet through this… that's been the main thing. _I _don't matter. She does."

Henry's all-too-perceptive eyes narrowed. "I'd be willing to lay down money that _she_ thinks you matter a whole hell of a lot."

"Yeah. Well." He turned to the wall, willing his blush to recede.

Henry chuckled, the evil bastard, and left him alone.

Lassiter paced a little more. It had been thirty-seven minutes and seventeen seconds now. He shoved a hand through his hair, growing more restless every moment.

The doctor appeared at the end of the counter. "Detective Lassiter?"

Lassiter froze. "Yes?"

"She's asking for you."

He didn't even think how it would look to anyone else; he just followed, and didn't bother asking the doctor anything, because Juliet would tell him what he needed to know.

"Keep the lights down," the doctor said as he opened the door, and didn't follow him in before closing it again.

Lassiter stared at Juliet. Beautiful, smiling, Juliet.

"There you are," she said softly. Sitting on the exam table, she waited for him to join her and immediately clasped his hands within hers.

The bandage was off and he could finally, finally see her beautiful dark blue eyes. There were faint red marks underneath where Vandiver's spray had hit her skin, and more where the bandage tape had been stuck to her temples, but even in the dim light of this room, he could _see her eyes_ and they were even more lovely than he remembered.

"Juliet," he breathed. "How is it? How much can you see?"

"Plenty. It's blurry still but the doctor said that'll improve. He's giving me eyedrops to use every three hours and I have to wear sunglasses and avoid blizzards and dust storms but God, Carlton, I just—I'm just so glad to _see_ you." She put her cool hands to his face and he kissed her, and it was new and familiar and sweet and perfect. "I missed your blue eyes so much."

"_My_ eyes," he said, marveling. "They're nothing compared to yours. Juliet, sweetheart, your eyes are amazing."

She slid her arms up around his neck and kissed him again, sniffling a little. "I told the doctor to bring you back here. I wanted to see _you_ before I saw anyone else."

"There's a lot of people out in the waiting room."

"I know, but you're the one I need most. I had to see you, Carlton. Only you. I wanted to look into your gorgeous eyes and tell you how much you mean to me."

His heart was pounding. "You don't have to. Not yet. You don't—"

"Don't be scared," she whispered. "Please. Not now. This is all good."

_Don't be scared_. Lassiter sighed, and let the gentle kisses she gave his face and forehead soothe him—soothe _him_! The woman might have had permanent eye damage and she was soothing _him_?—until he found his voice again.

"It is all good." He cupped her face and looked into those eyes he'd missed so much. "Are you ready to get out of here?"

"Yes," she said, and he helped her down off the table, but she ended up in his arms again, mouth seeking his desperately, and he was almost dizzy from kissing her.

Juliet pulled back, her hands to his face again, searching his eyes. "It's a cliché, isn't it." She laughed. "I had to go blind to stop being blind. I had to lose my ability to see in order to see the truth about my relationships with both Shawn and you."

"Nothing wrong with a good cliché," he assured her quite sincerely. "They come from truth anyway."

"And the other truth is I don't care right now if my eyes ever completely heal, if going through all this means you're mine."

His pulse was racing again. "I _am_ yours, Juliet." He might as well say it; after last night she couldn't have any real doubts that he was hers body and soul.

Her smile was like the sun—the dimness of the room immaterial—and she stood on tiptoes to kiss him again, making him weak in the knees, and Carlton Lassiter did _not_ get weak in the knees. Although having this soft warm creature in his arms was a good reason to start.

"But," he managed, "you still have a lot to deal with and some of it's out in the waiting room."

"Okay. Take me to greet the troops and then take me to breakfast and then take me home to bed." She traced his lips with her fingertip. "I want to be able to look into your blue eyes when you make love to me."

Lassiter was having trouble breathing, and Juliet's expression didn't help. "My God, yes. Anything you want, Juliet. Anything."

**. . . .  
****. . .**

It didn't go as smoothly as that, of course.

Juliet kept hold of his hand when they walked down the hall but they both knew to let go before they reached the waiting area. This was not the time to go public with their relationship.

It was all a bit blurry but she knew everyone who was hugging her, even through the dark glasses the doctor insisted she wear, and she was touched and misty-eyed at their enthusiasm.

Shawn hung back, playing the 'cool' card, but eventually he had his turn, and put his arms around her gingerly as if she were made of glass. "Jules," he murmured in her ear. "You know your man, right?"

_I do, and you're not him. _

She could feel Carlton at her side, tense but staying out of it. "Hello, Shawn. Thank you for being here." She let Gus step up and hug her and make a joke about her Ray Charles glasses, and then, because it was going to happen, she allowed Shawn to take her arm and draw her aside, almost to the door.

He looked tired—but anything before 9 a.m. was the crack of dawn to him—and gave her a faint smile. "Now's your chance. Your chance to give me the chance I'm asking for."

"Shawn…"

"I left you alone the last two days to let you think it over. All the good times we had. All the years we spent getting to where we could have a relationship at all. You know that matters, Jules. You know it does."

"It does matter. It did," she amended. "We'll always have… what we had. But I need more, and I can't get it from you. You're not ready to give more."

"I'm ready to try," he insisted. "That has to mean something."

"It does." She touched his arm lightly. "But you asked me to look you in the eye, and I am. I'm looking you in the eye to tell you it's over. No going back. I'm sorry and I hope we can be friendly and still work together but it's over."

"Friendly," he repeated. "You can't even say 'friends.'"

"It's up to you how it goes from here." From over his shoulder she could see Henry gazing their way, and Carlton standing dark and restless near Vick. "But it's up to me that it's ending now. I'm sorry, Shawn. I am glad you came today." She leaned in and kissed his cheek. "I'll see you around."

She crossed the room to where Carlton was waiting, and he put one hand on her back, and she whispered for him to take her home. He bent his head to hear, and she took in the scent of his aftershave and his skin and when he turned to look at her, the intense blue of his eyes pierced through her slightly blurry vision direct to her heart.

"Anything you want," he whispered back, as he had in the exam room.

Then that would be simple, because _he_ was _every_thing she wanted.

**. . . .  
****. . .**

Juliet savored the feeling of being able to _see_ Carlton as he undressed her unresisting form. Lying on her bed, being disrobed by her man, she savored the appearance of his arms and shoulders and furred chest, the line of his jaw and the way his hair curled and how soft it felt between her fingers as he kissed her breasts and sighed his way across the curves and valleys of her body… which was his now, forever.

He too seemed to want to see her eyes, his wide blue to her dark blue, and when he put his hand to her heat, his gaze was locked to hers—he whispered that he wanted to see what he could do to her in her eyes as well as feel it under his fingers.

Juliet opened herself to him, gasping at the workings of his hand, and the dim bedroom seemed bright with love, love she had yet to speak out loud.

When he took her, those blue depths ablaze with need, she wanted him even closer and deeper than physiology would allow. Closer, closer, harder, deeper—wrapped so completely around him she could hardly breathe and yet there was still so much more skin to be touched and kissed and loved.

It was barely over before she was asking for more, and they remained locked together through the morning and into the afternoon, giving and taking and uniting until collapse was the only option, and she wasn't sure she even had enough strength for that.

"Juliet," he said hoarsely, his head resting on her shoulder. "I can't not tell you I love you. I know I should wait and see how you adjust to all this but I can't. I love you."

Juliet laughed. "I know. Do you know I love you too?"

He lifted his head, half-frowning, half-chagrined. "Was I that obvious?"

She kissed his forehead. "Only because I wasn't trying to see it with my _eyes_."

A slow smile eased his frown, and he kissed her back. "You love me? You're sure?"

"Yes. Because I see _that_ with my heart."

Carlton sighed and put his head back on her shoulder, his breath warm on her skin.

And Juliet finally closed her eyes, because now their hearts could do the rest.

**. . . . . .  
****. . . . .  
****. . . .  
****. . .  
****. .**

**F I N**

_(This is officially the longest "one-shot" I've ever done. Cheers, y'all ~ thanks for reading.) _


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